The Return Of Mother's Deadly Helper
by LadyMoonSilver
Summary: Five-O thought they had seen the last of Cord McKenzie when he was given three life sentences in a federal prison. Now he's back, and he's got some new friends and a new agenda. Reposting for editing. Adding my usual warning for sex, violence, bad language and gratuitous gun porn...
1. Chapter 1

_I learned a new word recently. It's 'fanon' and I understand it as the concept of taking the characters from story 'canon' and giving them an entirely new setting._

 _That's what I have done. I took the team from Five-O and moved them forward to the nineties. I made them a little older and a little wiser and maybe a little more cynical and I've tried to make them as 'human' as possible._

 _So here's the disclaimer: The cast, crew, and concept of what has became known as Classic Five-O belongs to CBS. All the original characters are mine. I have a lot of imaginary friends._

 _I suppose I should give the usual warnings of violence, bad language, and sex, although not necessarily in that order._

 _Why Five-O? If you watch the reruns, especially of the first four seasons, you will find topics that we're struggling with today. The play doesn't change, only the players, and it's up to the writer to breathe life into the cast._

 _So here goes... Read and enjoy._

 _There is only one Steve McGarrett, and that's Jack Lord..._

* * *

O-O-O-O-O

He was dying and that was God's honest truth. He was dying, and, philosophically speaking, so was every other man, woman, and child currently existing on the third planet orbiting the sun in this particular corner of the multiverse.

The doctors had a name for it: fourth stage pancreatic cancer, confirmed by blood tests and x-ray and CT scans. It was only a matter of time, the docs told the assembled members of the parole board he had never expected to see.

He was seated in front of the long table where four men and three women would soon decide his fate; whether he would die in prison, or be allowed the dignity of a hospice stay. He could go out sick from the chemo or he could do it the easy way on mega doses of morphine until the end. Either way, he was still dead.

"Mr. Smith," the chairmen of the parole board, a middle aged, overweight, bleached blonde wearing way too much blue eye shadow said, "You were given three life sentences, two for premeditated murder, and one for the abduction and attempted murder of a judge. Since your conviction and incarceration here you have made more than one threat against the police and the judicial system that put you away. Other than that, your record here shows that you are a model prisoner, and taking that into consideration, we have elected to hear your case for compassionate release. This board has been apprised of your current precarious health condition, and the fact that before your life took such a wrong turn, you served diligently and honorably in the North Dakota National Guard, and because you have an adult son who is willing to take responsibility for you, we are willing to parole you to the Veteran's Administration Nursing Home in Greeley, North Dakota, for hospice care and treatment. However, there will be a few stipulations attached to your parole. One: you will be transported by the US Marshall's service to the facility in Greeley. Two: Once there you will not be allowed to leave the facility unless accompanied by a member of the VA staff. Three: you will not keep company with anyone convicted of a felony, and, four: you are barred, banned, and otherwise forbidden to return to the state of Hawaii, nor will you attempt to contact any member of any police force of that state, or any member of its judiciary. Failure to comply to any of these rules and you will be back in prison. Do you understand what I have just told you?"

"Yes, ma'am," Mr Smith said. "I know I shouldn't have done what I done. I don't have much time left. All I want to do is get to know my son before the end. I missed too much of his life already. I know I can never make up for what I done. I just want to get to know my boy, that is if it's okay with you and the rest of the parole board." Be humble, the lawyers had said. Mention the kid you had abandoned when he was five. Pretend you're sorry for what you did and that you have no intention of going after those traitor cops and those thieving pinko lawyers who put you away for doing what had to be done. Maybe after he was done he'd come back and take care of a few of the bleeding heart bureaucrats on the parole board, that fat cunt with big hair and too much eye shadow for starters.

"Very well, Mr. Smith," the chairman said. "Parole granted under the previously stated conditions. Good luck and may God bless the time you have left. You may go now."

"Thank you," Mr. Smith said, standing up. He'd lost weight and the drab prison uniform hung on his frame. He shuffled slowly out the room, allowing one of the guards and an orderly from the prison infirmary to help him into the wheelchair that waited outside.

That evening he called his son.

"Austin, my boy," he said, keeping his tone light and cheerful while doing his best to sound like he was ill. "They're going to let me out. I got parole."

"That's great, Pa!" the voice on the other end said. "Are you going to the nursing home in Greeley, like we hoped?"

"Yeah, son," he said. "The Marshal's are going to give me ride. I'll be there before Christmas. We'll get to spend the holidays together. I'm looking forward to seeing you again."

"Me too, Pa," his son said. "I'll have everything ready. You're going to have the best surprise waiting for you when you get here."

"I hope so, son." he said, after a short bout of realistic coughing. "I'm having a little trouble breathing, so I'll hang up for now. We'll talk more when I get there. Bye, for now."

"Good-bye, Pa. I'll see you soon." They hung up.

Ten days later the pair of them, unrecognizable due to the discreet use of hair dye, cosmetics, tinted contact lenses, and with the assistance of new identities brought from from the dark side of the world wide web, boarded a plane in Seattle that would have them in Honolulu the next morning. Let the Marshal's look for them in the frozen wasteland of the Black Hills until the cows came home and went to bed with the chickens. They were on their way to a more tropical climate.

This time, he was going to make damn sure justice was served.


	2. Chapter 2

Dan Williams was having a rare bout of insomnia. Usually he managed to fall asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. Tonight, all he'd done was toss and turn and reflect on how much he was missing Beverly. When he had first met the red haired sailor from Alabama, he hadn't planned on falling in love. Except she was different from any other women he'd ever met. She was smart, funny, and once he had earned her trust enough to let her guard down, he had discovered a beautiful heart and a caring soul. Their wedding last August had been a hurried affair. A short drive across the state line to West Virginia, and a small chapel in the foothills, with the only witnesses being a couple the minister knew and who didn't have anything else to do that morning. He had worn a suit, she was in her Navy dress whites. He wouldn't have cared if she'd been wearing a feed sack. She had been radient; her cheeks flushed and tears of happiness making her eyes sparkle.

When Beverly returned to the Islands for the Christmas holidays, Maggie had insisted on letting the two of them share the limelight at her own wedding reception. They had their own cake (without a forest fire of birthday candles) and Beverly got to throw her bouquet at the single women. The flowers had landed neatly in the Ivory Thompson's arms.

Once again he turned over and reached for the woman who wasn't there. Sighing, he gave up on sleeping, showered, got dressed, and did what every other member of Five-O did when they had trouble sleeping. He went to work.

The holidays were over. The day before Danny had put Beverly on a plane back to DC where she would finish NCIS training in June. John Cooper McGarrett and Sophie Yablanski were on the same flight to LA, where they would part company, Cooper and Beverly returning to Quantico while Sophie would catch a connecting flight back to New York and Vassar College.

Danny unlocked the office, turned on the lights, and started a pot of coffee brewing. He was in charge for one more week. Steve and Maggie were still on their honeymoon, and Duke Lukela was due back from his that morning. The rest of the crew would start meandering in around six thirty. Until then he had the office to himself, giving him time to catch up on the ungodly amounts of paperwork that police officers had to deal with on a daily basis.

When the coffee was ready, he poured himself a cup, added two sugars, and went to check the telex and fax machines to see if anything interesting came in overnight. He gathered the papers from their trays and took them into Steve's office; Danny's office for the duration. He took one sip of coffee and started reading. The first one was a typical BOLO that would be handled by HPD. The second one was from the warden of Ft Leonard Federal Prison outside of Butte, Montana. He was still reading it, his untouched coffee going cold in the cup, when Duke came in, looking tanned and rested from his honeymoon.

"Good morning, Danny," Duke said, sounding entirely to chipper for the early hour. "What's up?"

Danny passed him the report. Duke's good mood went south at warp speed.

"How?" he asked. "He had three consecutive life sentences with no possibility of parole and they let him out?"

Danny looked disgusted. "The reason is on the last page. He's got terminal pancreatic cancer. He got compassionate parole and was transferred to a VA nursing home in Greeley, North Dakota. He was there two days, broke into the pharmacy, stole enough drugs to get this entire island high, and disappeared into the hills. The authorities in Greeley don't think he'll get very far without a lot of help, considering its mid winter in North Dakota and there's about ten feet of snow on the ground, but they were nice enough to let us know he's on the loose, just in case."

"Think he'll make it back here?" Duke asked.

"I sincerely hope he doesn't. So far there's no sign of him anywhere, and that includes footprints in the snow. It wouldn't hurt my feelings any if he fell down a ravine and they don't find him until spring thaw, but I doubt we'll get that lucky," Danny said. "All vehicles belonging to the staff have been accounted for, and there are no reports of stolen vehicles of any type within a hundred mile radius of Greeley. The Marshal's think he may have had an accomplice for transportation and a hide out. He's got an adult son named Stephen Austin Smith that they're trying to run down now. I'm betting that's his accomplice. Chances are he's going to try to buy a fake ID, since you can't get on a plane without one. The FBI and the Marshal's have alerted all airports in the vicinity. I'm going to notify every airport and ship dock in the Islands, in case he manages to make it this far."

"How long as Smith been on the loose?" Duke asked.

"He took off two weeks before Christmas," Danny said.

"That long? He could be anywhere. You'd think the Marshal's could have informed us a little sooner." The one thing that Duke Lukela could not abide was inefficient police work. The delay in informing Five-O of Smith's escape was going to make their job a lot tougher.

"They're blaming it on being short staffed over the holidays. Somehow I don't see Steve, or Chief Dann or our new sheriff buying that as an excuse."

"We're going to have to let Steve know. Any idea where he is?"

"Out sailing is all I know," Danny said. "He radios in every day around noon and again at sundown to let everyone know they're okay."

"When he finds out, he'll come in. I don't want to ruin his honeymoon."

"We don't have much of a choice. Smith has already vowed to come after Steve and every other cop on this Rock, as well as a couple of judges and the DA. He even stated as much in court at his sentencing hearing. Now that he's dying, he's got nothing left to lose, and that's going to make him doubly dangerous. Put in a call to the Coast Guard. Tell them to be on the lookout for the _Little Menehune._ He was somewhere off Lanaina yesterday. Tell them McGarrett needs to call in at once. I'm going to call the warden from Montana and ask him to send over every file he has on Smith. Maybe we can find a lead they're missing."

"Will do," Duke said. "Didn't Smith use another name while he was here? Carl McKenzie or something like that?"

"He was going by Cord McKenzie while he was here in the Islands. Only we know him better by the name he signed those crazy letters: Mother's Helper."

* * *

O-O-O-O-O

Maggie came out of the cabin, wearing one of Steve's shirts and a smile, her long silver hair loose and blowing in the wind.

Steve gave her an appreciative look, whistling silently as he did. "Baby, are you planning on wearing clothes today, because if you're not, I'm going to be to distracted to do much sailing."

In answer she walked across the deck, barefoot, to stand in front of him. She unbuttoned the shirt, letting it fall open to show tanned skin and firm breasts. Steve pulled her close, gently pushing the shirt off her shoulders and letting it drop to the deck. He rested his head against her chest, listening to the beat of her heart and the rhythm of her breathing, feeling them quicken as he caressed her warm tanned skin, cherishing how good it felt to hold her. He remembered the first time they had made love and how she hadn't wanted him to see the scars she carried, reminders of the being wounded in Desert Storm. When the doctors at Queen's Hospital had done the surgery to repair the damage done by Big Chicken and his cronies they had gone in through the old incisions without leaving any new scars as reminders. She was still too thin and still tired to easily, but she was recovering, and, he was happy to note, she hadn't had a nightmare since they had been out sailing.

"Well, Commander," she drawled in that Southern accent that always put him in the mood, "Your first mate is completely out of uniform. What's your plan of action for the day?"

In answer he pulled her into his lap, kissing her gently as he stroked the soft skin of her inner thigh. The winds were light and out of the southwest and would still be blowing in the afternoon. Time enough for sailing later.

"Want to go below?" he asked, as his lips traced down her neck to find her nipple and he heard her gasp as his fingers found the sweet spot.

"What's wrong with right here on the deck? " she said, smiling seductively. "There's no one out here but you and me and the birds and that silly dolphin who's been following us all night hoping for a snack."

The sun, the wind, and the water, along with her firm warm flesh, were doing wonders for his libido. She stood up, unbuckled his belt and was unzipping his jeans when they heard the sound of a chopper overhead, followed closely by the thrum of a diesel marine engine.

"Who called the damned Coast Guard?" Maggie asked, annoyed by the interruption. Even without her glasses she recognized the bright orange paint on the Sikorsky Sea Guardian Helicopter.

All of Steve's warning bells were going off at once. If the Coast Guard was looking for them, then something serious was happening. "You better get dressed, baby," he said, sighing. "I think the honeymoon's over."

* * *

O-O-O-O-O

Maggie was fully clothed by the time the Coast Guard cutter was pulling alongside their sailboat. Steve had dropped anchor and lowered the mainsail. He was waiting on deck, annoyed by the intrusion and wondering what was going on.

"Permission to come aboard, sir," the skipper of the cutter asked.

"Granted," Steve said. The Skipper and his mate climbed down the ship's ladder to the lower deck of the sailboat.

"I'm Commander Rollins," he said, saluting out of habit and the knowledge that McGarrett was a retired Navy Commander. "I'm sorry to bother you, sir, but you have an urgent message from Dan Williams at Five-O. We've been hailing you since seven this morning with no response, so we headed out to your last known location. Is there a problem with your radio, sir?"

"I turned it off," Steve replied, rather tersely, "possibly because my wife and I didn't want our honeymoon interrupted."

"Sorry, sir," said the Skipper. "If you could come on board, we'll get this out of the way and you can go back to whatever it was you were doing." He finished weakly, face flushing bright red under McGarrett's glare and Maggie's raised eyebrows.

"I'll be right back, honey," Steve said. He kissed the top of her head and climbed onto the cutter.

He was gone for over an hour. When he got back, he told her the Coast Guard would be towing them into the harbor at Lanaina where a helicopter would be waiting to take them back to Honolulu.

"Why?" Maggie asked.

"Just something that I have to take care of," he said. He tied the boat to the tow lines on the cutter, lowered and secured the sails, and began hauling up the anchor. "I'm sorry, love. This is unavoidable."

"That's what I get for being married to Supercop," she said. "I understand, really I do. And I know that Danny wouldn't have called unless it was serious." She let him put his arms around her, snuggling close as he did. "How long before we're back in port?"

"About two hours," he said, looking at her quizzically.

"And since we're being towed you don't really have to steer, right?"

"Yes," he said, smiling as what she was thinking slowly began to dawn on him.

"If the honeymoon ends in two hours, we might as well make the best of it," she said, and taking his hand, led him into the cabin and closed the door.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve hadn't known Maggie hated flying. She sat in the seat next to his, holding the armrest and his hand so tightly her knuckles were turning white and his hand was going numb.

"Are you going to be okay, baby?" he asked, leaning close to her ear so she could hear him over the engine noise. He bent down to hear her reply.

"I hate choppers and I hate flying. How much longer until this damned bird lands?"

Steve consulted his watch. "About forty-five minutes. Not much longer."

"Tell Danny he owes me big time for this!" she said.

"You got it, baby," Steve said. He wasn't happy about the news he'd received from Danny. He had no idea how to tell Maggie there was madman with a vendetta against every law enforcement official on the Islands, from the AG down to the newest rookie beat cop, or that no one seemed to know where the man was.

Ten years earlier, Lester Smith, aka Cord McKenzie had appointed himself judge, jury, and executioner, dispensing frontier justice to those he felt had escaped punishment from the courts. McKenzie had murdered two men he considered low life scum before kidnapping and threatening to kill a judge. McGarrett's free hand involuntarily reached beneath the headset to the small scar hidden under his hair, a permanent reminder of the day McKenzie was arrested after leading the Five-O detectives and a squad of HPD officers on a desperate foot chase through the back allies of King Street. McKenzie had tossed a steel trash can down a flight of stairs, cracking McGarrett on the head and opening a gash that took ten stitches to close. He had been out of breath and half blinded by the blood flowing into his eye when McKenzie was collared by HPD, screaming vengeance against McGarrett, Five-O, HPD, and every judge and district attorney on the Islands. A board of court appointed psychiatrists had deemed him fit to stand trial. He was convicted on all counts, and because kidnapping was a federal offense McKenzie was given three consecutive life sentences in a federal prison.

 _First it was Big Chicken, now this_ , McGarrett thought. _She's been through enough_. He took some comfort in the fact that the psyche report on McKenzie had determined that the madman wouldn't dream of hurting women and children, only those he considered low life scum, cruds, pinko communists bleeding heart judges, crooked lawyers, and traitor cops. _At least he won't go after our families_. He smiled down at the woman who had been his wife for ten days. He raised the hand clutching his so tightly to his lips, kissing her softly. _My Little Menehune_ , he thought, _my ohana_.

O-O-O-O-O

John Manicote was running late. He had exactly ten minutes to be in the courtroom before the court resumed session. He was mentally rehearsing his closing argument as he hurried from the parking garage on Halekuawila Street, ignoring the news media that swarmed in front of the court house. He heard his assistant call his name, and half turned to answer her. That was why the bullet missed his heart and lodged in his right lung instead.

The impact knocked him off his feet and into the bailiff who had been holding the door, which was why the second shot missed completely and ricocheted off the side of the building. The bailiff drug him into the safety of the building as the reporters scattered and spectators screamed. He was having trouble breathing and his chest hurt like hell. He wondered briefly if he was having a heart attack. He pressed his hand against his chest where it hurt the most, and was shocked to see it come away wet and sticky with blood. _Sho_ t, he thought, _I've been shot. Why?_ Then everything faded to black.

O-O-O-O-O

Dan Williams and Duke Lukela were waiting when they landed, along with an HPD blue and white being driven by Robbie Compton. Robbie took their bags and stashed them in the back of the back seat of the patrol car. His job was to drive Maggie home and check the perimeter around the house before going back on patrol.

"Sorry about this, Steve," Danny said after McGarrett had helped Maggie out of the helicopter. "I had a feeling you'd want to know about this as soon as possible."

"Any idea where he could be?" McGarrett asked, hoping it was anywhere but Hawaii.

"No idea. North Dakota can't find him or his son. It's like they vanished off the the face of the earth." Danny said.

"Not possible," Steve replied. "No one just vanishes. He's out there somewhere. I can feel it."

"Feel what, honey?" Maggie asked, frowning.

"Nothing for you to worry about," Steve said, bending to kiss her good-bye. "Robbie is going to drive you home. I'll try to be home by eight."

"Are you planning on telling me what's going on then?" she asked.

"It's probably nothing. Let's just say we're erring on the side of caution for now. I'll see you when I get home. Robbie, make sure everything is secure before you report back for duty."

"Yes, sir." Compton said as he opened the door for Maggie to get in. "Come on, Sgt McGarrett, looks like I'm going to be your chauffeur today."

"One of these days I'm going to get use to being called that. I'll see you at home, Steve. Try not to be too late." She gave them a small wave as they drove away.

"Steve," Duke Lukela called loudly in order to be heard over the noise of the helicopter taking off and the sudden increase in radio traffic. "I think we just heard from McKenzie. Someone shot John Manicote as he was going into the courthouse. He's being transported to Queens Hospital. Chin's at the scene. He says John's still alive but it doesn't look good."

"Let's go," Steve said as he and Danny ran to the car. "Danno, let's head to Queens. Duke, go to the scene. Call Che and get forensics down there fast. Then get HPD on the horn, cordon off that entire block and see how many witnesses you can shake loose."

"On my way," Duke said, slamming the door and tearing out of the parking lot with sirens blaring and lights flashing.

"Think we're going to find anything?" Danny asked as he stuck the spinner on the roof and hit the lights and sirens.

"Danno, I have a feeling the only thing we're going to find is a shell casing from a 44/40." He buckled the seat belt as Danny sped off and reached for his phone, only to remember it was in his overnight bag along with his service revolver. He borrowed Danny's phone and called Maggie, asking her to bring his bag and a change of clothes to the office.

"Forget a few things?" she asked. She had heard the increased traffic on the blue and white's radio. "Give me an hour to shower and change, then I'll meet you at Iolani. I heard the radio calls and I know you're busy. Love you." She ended the call, frowning, hoping he would be safe.

 _That's my Little Menehune_ , Steve thought, half smiling as he punched in Kono's number, relieved that Honolulu county now had a sheriff they could depend on. When the Big Hawaiian answered, Steve requested sheriff's deputies set up roadblocks on all the roads leading out of the city.

"Gotcha, Boss," Kono said. "Hope John's gone be okay. Sorry you had to come back early, but I'm glad you here."

"Thanks, Brudah," Steve said, ending the call.


	4. Chapter 4

An extended cab Dodge truck was parked in the driveway next to Maggie's car. A flatbed with a load of stone, wire, wrought iron, and bags of cement was parked by the curb. A cleared space about three feet wide contained a ditch already filled with concrete and set with wrought iron fence posts at even intervals. Both trucks, as well as the tee-shirts of the men working, bore the logo "Swanson Construction" and a phone number.

"What is all this?" Maggie asked. If Steve had a major remodeling project in the works, he hadn't told her.

"Oops," Robbie said. "This was suppose to be a surprise. You need to talk to Mr. Swanson. That's his truck so I know he's here. He's a good man. Comes highly recommend. He's even done jobs for the governor, here and back on Hilo where Mr. Jameson's from. Not to worry, everyone here is checked out personally by Mr. Swanson, and trust me, he does not put up with bullshit from anyone." Robbie got the bags out of the car and carried them inside.

A stocky man in neatly pressed workman's denim with the company logo embroidered over the left pocket hurried through the house to yell at Compton. "What's all this about? That squad car scared the hell out of about half my guys and they're hiding in the bushes, wondering what they did wrong." He was average height, balding, and appeared to be in his early sixties.

"Hello, Mr. Swanson, something came up and the honeymoon got canceled. Since you're here, I can tell Mr. McGarrett that I left his wife in good hands. I'm going back on patrol. Sounds like they need all the help they can get downtown." Robbie saluted as he left.

"Missus McGarrett, I wasn't expecting you back for another week." He held out a calloused hand for Maggie to shake. Maggie ignored the hand and hugged him instead. Charlie Swanson had been a guest at the wedding. He reminded Maggie of her father, who, when he wasn't shrimping, did construction work.

"Charlie, I thought I told you to call me Maggie. It's okay. It's good to see you! Now would you mind telling me why my house is a construction zone?" The back wall of the dining room had been removed and a part of the lanai was now framed in with two by four studs and exterior plywood. Three men who appeared to be in their mid twenties where peering around a pile of trusses, still distrustful of uniformed officers.

"It was suppose to be a surprise, Miss Maggie," Charlie said. "I was planning on being done before you and Mr. McGarrett got back Sunday evening. What you're looking at is your husband's new office and your new sewing room. He said you were getting tired of moving case files every time you wanted to lay out a pattern or set the table for company. This is your wedding present."

Maggie looked at what was left of their dining room. The furniture had been moved into the living room and covered with dust sheets.

"I wasn't expecting this, that's for sure," Maggie said. "Uh, Charlie, I know most of your crew are ex-cons. Please tell me my husband removed all the firearms."

Charlie smiled at that, showing dimples and square white teeth. _I bet he was a knockout when he was_ _younger,_ Maggie thought.

"Not to worry, Miss Maggie," Charlie said, reassuringly. "Your husband knows my crew. Hell, he recommend a few of them. Everything is locked up back at his office at Iolani Palace except the ones in the bedroom, and my guys don't know about those and don't go in there. I can personally vouch for every man here and they know that if they step out of line, they deal with me first and the parole board next."

"The new office and sewing room I can understand. What's that going up out front?" Maggie asked, still confused and not at all happy about the bushes that had been removed.

Charlie frowned. McGarrett had already told him that Maggie wasn't going to like the new fencing. "It's like this, after what happened, Mr. McGarrett wanted more security around this house. There's going to be a stone wall out front, with iron gates that open with a remote for when you're away and can be key locked from inside when you are at home. The wall goes all the way around the property. But on the beach side, it's going to be wrought iron with a lockable gate. He said there was no way you'd allow a stone wall on the beach side."

Maggie shook her head. "More security. I swear it's almost like being back in the damned desert." She caught the look of concern that Charlie was giving her. "It's okay, Charlie, really. I know he's doing this because he loves me and he still blames himself for what happened and if building one hell of a fence makes him feel better, let him."

Charlie took both of Maggie's hands in his, something he'd never done before. "Miss Maggie, you don't know this, but your husband saved my life. In more ways than one. If it wasn't for him I'd either be dead or back in prison. He's a good man. I knew Rhodes from way back. He's as bad as they come and the best thing that happened to this Island was when they shipped him off to that Supermax. I'm sorry about what happened. I should be building a nursery instead of an office."

Maggie closed her eyes for a moment. "Thank you, Charlie. My husband has good instincts. He knows a good man when he sees one. And you may get to build that nursery yet. We're going to try to adopt. In the meantime, I'll give Duke Lukela your card. He and Susan are expecting a baby boy in early May."

"Anything to keep my crew working and out of lockup. I'll take your bags to your room and get back to work. It's a good thing you're home early. You're shorter than I thought and I have to adjust the height of your new cutting table." He carried the bags to the bedroom and went outside, informing the world in general that he wasn't paying people to stand around looking cute.

Maggie headed for the shower, once again overwhelmed with love for her husband. _Charlie's right, he_ _is a good man_ , she thought, _I wonder if the rest of the world will ever know_. As she stood under the warm water washing the salt spray from her hair, the idea formed. _Yes_ , she thought, _I can do that_ , and smiling, she finished her shower and got dressed, ignoring the dull throbbing pain in her lower back that seemed to be her permanent companion these days. She got her favorite suit from Steve's closet, the cobalt blue one that matched the color of his eyes, a white shirt and a blue-gray silk tie with a thin blue diagonal stripe. She packed fresh underwear, and his shaving gear into the bag where he'd stashed his service revolver and cell phone and as an afterthought, dropped in the phone charger, just in case.

Her car was hot and stuffy from being parked for a week with the top and the windows up. She let down the windows, put back the top, and slid a Bruce Springsteen CD into the player, cranking the volume to ear bleeding decibels as the opening bars of "Dancing in the Dark" blasted the afternoon air.

* * *

O-O-O-O-O

The trauma center at Queens Hospital was it's usual controlled bedlam. Both uniformed and plain clothes HPD officers were milling around, trying to make sense of it all as they took witness statements. Chief Dann was already there waiting when McGarrett and Williams arrived. He was use to seeing McGarrett in a suit and did a double take at the tall detective dressed in jeans and a faded denim shirt and in need of a shave. McGarrett, Dann knew, was suppose to be out sailing with is new bride and looked as if he'd came in straight from the marina.

"What have you got, Chief?" McGarrett asked.

"Someone shot John Manicote is all we know at this point," Dann said, frowning. "It appears the shooter was somewhere in the parking tower across the street from the back entrance to the courthouse. I've got the garage sealed off. No one leaves until it's been searched, although I have a feeling our shooter was already long gone. Che's in there with a team from forensics. We'll know more when he's done. I sent a couple of blue and whites to pick up John's wife and daughter. They should be here soon."

McGarrett nodded. He didn't envy the officers on that detail. Informing the family of a tragedy was the worse part of any cop's job. "Have there been any threats against John or anyone else in the DA's office over a case that's coming up?" he asked, holding onto a small sliver of hope that they were dealing with a professional hit man and not a lunatic with a rifle. Professional shooters tended to be easier to track down and were adverse to killing people without being paid.

"My men are still asking questions and taking witness statements, Steve," Chief Dan said, somewhat testily. He had been disgruntled since Duke Lukela had retired from HPD to join Five-O. "I haven't had a chance to talk to anyone from the DA's office as yet. You can wait for the reports, or you can ask the assistant DA. She was there when John got shot and she's here in the waiting area. I'm going to go wait for Mrs. Manicote. John's still hanging in there, but from what I've heard, the next few hours are going to be crucial. The waiting area is down the hall and to your left."

"I know where it is," McGarrett said, wishing he didn't. And that it was a different assistant DA.

Her name was Regina Amber Gleeson. She was tall, thin, had dark brown hair cut into a power bob and looked more like a model than a lawyer. Two years earlier she and McGarrett had dated for a short time. The relationship hadn't ended well. He kept getting the feeling that as far as she was concerned, she was dating the chief of Hawaii Five-O, not Steve McGarrett, and contrary to popular opinion, those were two different people. Afterwords McGarrett had made his staff promise that if he ever dated another female lawyer, to please have him admitted to the psyche ward at Tripler until he came to his senses, not that it mattered much. A few months later he'd met Maggie, and as they say, the rest was history.

She stood up when they entered the waiting room, hair and makeup done to a perfection and wearing a Chanel suit that didn't look like it came from off the rack. In the spike heeled Jimmy Cho's she was wearing she was almost as tall as McGarrett and towered over Danny by at least half a foot.

"Steve," she said, extending a hand. "And Officer Williams. Didn't take them long to call in the big guns. I thought you were on your honeymoon."

Steve gave her a brief hug and Danny shook hands with the lawyer. Her fingers were tipped with two inch acrylic nails polished in a sunburst pattern. "Fortunately, I have married a very understanding woman. Can you tell me what happened?"

To her credit, she looked genuinely disturbed, her voice breaking as she spoke. "I was at the break area, where the tables are under the trees, going over my case files before court went back in session. I had just packed up my files and was going back inside when I saw John trying to get through the reporters. I wanted to catch up to him, so I called his name. I heard the shot just as he was turning around. I saw him fall against the bailiff holding the door, then I heard the second shot. After that it was just screaming and yelling and people running for cover." She shuddered involuntarily. "Oh, god, if I hadn't called him maybe he would have been inside the building and wouldn't have been shot. What am I suppose to tell Sharon?"

"Gina," McGarrett asked, giving her a reassuring pat on the shoulder as he did, "I doubt that would have made any difference and there's no reason to blame yourself. Have there been any threats made against John or anyone else in the DA's office?"

She shook her head, "No, none that we were taking seriously, anyway. You know what it's like. We get all kinds of crazy threats. Most of them are just venting and turn out to be harmless."

"What case was on the docket?" Danny asked. "Could it be someone thought that if John were out of the way the case would fall apart?"

"Danny," she replied, "That would be about the dumbest stunt anyone could pull. The case we were trying is the one for the Camera Crusader, as he calls himself. The only reason John was arguing the case is because he found the whole thing amusing. He said it was comic relief from some of the other awful stuff he's had to prosecute of late."

McGarrett and Williams had to agree. The Camera Crusader had personally declared war on traffic and surveillance cameras, considering them an invasion of privacy at their best and a violation of the forth amendment at their worse. For the previous three years he had been a one man wrecking crew pitted against every red light and CCTV camera on the Island. Armed with cans of spray paint, an air rifle, a paint gun, and a three foot length of fire hardened teak, he'd caused thousands of dollars worth of damage to any camera he declared intrusive. He'd written letters to every major newspaper in Honolulu taking credit for the destruction, but what had really annoyed law enforcement was when he started calling the local radio talk shows, making himself into a folk hero. He'd been busted _in flagrante_ by an off duty airport security officer who'd been out running with her dog, a Rhodesian Ridgeback named Dolly, a K-9 officer who was getting quite the reputation as a damned good cop.

The trial had started the previous week, jury selection taking more time than the actual trial, which had been due to conclude that afternoon. The idea of shooting anyone over the possible outcome of the case was ludicrous.

"Was there anything else he could have been working on that would make him a target?" McGarrett asked.

"The biggest thing we've got going at this time are the cases stemming from that church Five-O busted back in August. So far no threats in conjunction with that one." She shrugged, a gracefully elegant gesture that normally had juries eating out of her hand. "Steve, I simply don't know. It's after the holidays and everything has been quiet. No threats of any kind, physical or legal. It's like he was hit by a bolt of lightening on a cloudless day."

"Thank you, Miss Gleeson," Steve said, formally. "If you think of anything that may be of importance, let us know. I will send someone over tomorrow to interview the rest of your staff. Let them know that we're looking for anything out of the ordinary that could be construed as a threat, no matter how odd it may sound. If you will excuse us, we need to get back to Iolani."

"I'll let them know," she said, giving McGarrett a quick once over as the two detectives left. She took in the way his jeans fit and the way the faded denim shirt emphasized his broad shoulders and trim waist. _He still looks too damned good,_ _the bastard,_ she thought _. I wonder what his wife is like?_

* * *

O-O-O-O-O

McGarrett and Williams returned to the trauma center as Doc Bergman stepped out of the room. He motioned for the two detectives to join him.

"Got anything for us, Doc?" McGarrett asked.

"He's got a bullet from a high powered rifle in the lower lobe of his right lung. He got lucky. Two inches lower and the bullet would have exploded his liver." Bergman was known for gruff explanations.

"What's the prognosis?" Williams asked. "Is he going to live?"

"Right now I'm giving him 60/40 odds. He's lost a lot of blood and he's probably about to lose part of his right lung. The only reason he's still with us is he's in good shape, doesn't smoke, and the second shot missed. It's going to be touch and go for the next couple of days, but I think he'll make it. We caught a major break that's going to be a big plus for his survival odds. There's a convention of thoracic surgeons in town for the week. I put in a call and we've got two of the best surgeons in the country scheduled to do the surgery."

"Can we talk to him?" McGarrett asked.

"Afraid not," Doc said. "He's got a tube down his throat to help him breathe. The only reason he's not in surgery is we were waiting for his wife to get here, and if she doesn't hurry, she's going to have to wait until he's in recovery to see him."

As if on cue, Chief Dann appeared, having escorted John's wife and daughter through a mine field of reporters.

"This way, ladies," Doc said, leading the two women into the trauma room.

"Find out anything from the ADA?" Chief Dann asked.

"Nothing," McGarrett said. "No viable threats and the no one's going to shoot a DA over a modern day Don Quixote who's got it in for traffic cameras instead of windmills."

"You think Mother's Helper is at it again?" Chief Dann was worried for the same reason McGarrett was. With McKenzie on the loose, every uniformed police officer was a target.

"That's what I'm afraid of, Chief. I'll be in my office if anything new turns up. Keep me posted on John's condition and let his wife and daughter know that if they need anything, all they have to do is call my office."

"You got it, Steve. Let's catch this bastard before he starts shooting at uniforms."


	5. Chapter 5

It had been too easy. They had parked their getaway car on the lower level of the parking tower the night before, with all the equipment they would need stashed neatly in the trunk. Then they had stolen a plain Jane four door sedan from a grocery store parking lot, leaving it's elderly owner confused because she thought she had forgotten where she had parked. That car was now abandoned two blocks down from the parking garage in front of a branch of the Bank of Oahu. They had simply strolled down the street, retrieved the equipment from the trunk, and took the elevator to the top level of the tower.

The didn't have to wait long. McKenzie spotted Manicote through his binoculars, noting that the lawyer's hair had thinned considerably in the preceding years. He spit his gum onto the roof and told his son it was time.

The dismantled rifle had been secreted inside an empty oxygen tank that could be pulled around on a little trolley. Attached to the tank were several feet of clear plastic tubing and a mask. His son had opened the top of the tank and taken out the pieces and re-assembled the weapon, a 44/40 Winchester lever action. It was the gun that had won the West and had been carried by every lawman worthy of the name, back when men were men and criminals knew their days were numbered.

He didn't bother with a silencer. There was no need. They would be long gone by the time the traitor cops and bleeding heart judges realized what had happened. The security guards were way too politically correct to even think about stopping and questioning an elderly man hauling around an oxygen tank and breathing through a tube.

He smirked as he saw Manicote fall. His second shot had missed because of interference from the bailiff, but no matter, he had hit his target. He handed the rifle back to his son, who quickly dismantled the weapon and stashed it back in the oxygen tank. Time to head back to the cheap apartment they'd rented though an internet rental service and wait for the news reports.

"Now that's some good shootin'," he said, still smirking. His son handed him an oak cane, and with the practiced steps of the infirm, they made their way back to the elevators and down to the first level of the garage. This time they didn't bother to stash the tank in the trunk, but put it on the front passenger side. McKenzie pulled the mask on over his mouth and nose and pretended to wheeze as they left the parking structure.

They turned right onto Punchbowl and then left onto King Street, slowly cruising by Iolani Palace on their way to the anonymity of Hotel Street.

McKenzie took off the oxygen mask he didn't need. "Reckon we should stop in and give Five-O some advice on frontier justice?"

"Not today, Pop," Austin said, giving his dad an intense look. "You're scaring me Pop. If those cops catch you it's back to the slammer. Sending out those letters is gonna get right up their noses."

"Even this new politically correct bunch of pansy's calling themselves the government these days say you gotta have a death warrant before an execution. So I sent one to that bleeding heart DA. The real citizens of this state are going to stand up and cheer when they realize what's happening. I'm just doing what needs to be done. By the time I'm done cleaning up the streets here in Honolulu, they're gonna be begging for my service in DC." McKenzie unwrapped a fresh stick of gum and shoved it in his mouth, grinning. He was just getting started. "Drop me off at the apartment and go send out the rest of them letters. Use the same bike messenger. It'll take those clowns at HPD and Five-O a week to figure out who sent the warrants, and by then, most of 'em are gonna be out of the picture." He settled back in his seat, looking smug.

Austin looked over at his dad. He hadn't even known the man existed until five years earlier, after the death of the women he thought was his mother. Betty Smith was no one's mother. She had adopted Austin when her brother Lester and his so called wife had gotten into some serious trouble with one of the many survivalist groups that populated the vast empty prairies of the American West. They had fled the country, leaving their five year old son in her care. Miz Betty, as she was known to everyone in Greeley was a segregationist and a white supremacist. She owned a small ranch thirty miles to the north of Greeley, where she raised horses and a few cattle. Her main source of income came from providing a safe house for like minded people who were fleeing from 'government persecution' and from the sale of high grade marijuana. A month before she died from stomach cancer, she had told Austin the truth about his biological parents, that his father was serving a life sentence for murder and kidnapping, and that his mother seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth, an occurrence that Miz Betty considered a blessing to the rest of the world. After his grandmother had been buried and the will leaving everything to Austin had been read, he went looking for his father.

It didn't take long. The Feds were most helpful. The warden at the Ft Leonard held the belief that prisoners serving life sentences were easier to deal with if they had frequent visits from family members. Except for occasional visits with his lawyer, Lester Smith had had no visitors until the day Austin had showed up, armed with his birth certificate and the baby book his mother had started when he was born, searching for answers.

Instead of finding answers, he'd found himself mesmerized by his father's rhetoric. He fell deeper under the elder Smith's spell with every visit. His father had convinced him that he was the one force standing between law and chaos. Together they had hatched the plan that ultimately lead to Smith's release from prison. It had been an expensive plan, one that required growing and selling more marijuana than ever before and the eventual sale of the ranch itself. It would all be worth it, his father had told him. They were going to be heroes.

Austin thought the plan was too risky. He had advised that they lay low for a week after the first shooting. Smith had been insistent. They would stick to the timetable. He dropped his father off at their apartment and drove to the office of the messenger service.

* * *

O-O-O-O-O

Jenny had the coffee pot brewing. She gave McGarrett a quick hug. "Welcome back," she said. "I hope Maggie wasn't upset about your honeymoon being shortened."

McGarrett returned Jenny's hug and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "If she is, she's not complaining. My Little _Menehune_ is becoming a good cop's wife."

Jenny handed him a stack of computer printouts in labeled folders. "Danny requested this from the warden in Montana. It's every report on McKenzie ever written. Everyone's got copies, including HPD and the sheriff's office, and I had a set sent over to the DA's office. Danny's hoping we can find something in here that the Marshall's and the FBI missed."

"Thanks, love," he said. "Let's hope. Maggie is bringing me some more clothes. Send her in as soon as she gets here, please."

"Will do, Boss. Chin called from the lab. He found some shell casing at the scene and Che's having a look at them now. He should be done soon and Chin will bring the lab report over when Che's done."

"Good job," McGarrett said, pouring a cup of coffee and taking a drink. "And good coffee. Maggie is the best thing that ever happened to me but she can't make coffee worth a damn." He picked up the folders and headed for his office, hoping that Danno hadn't re-arranged his desk too much in his absence.

He opened the first folder and began reading, quickly becoming engrossed with the warden's report. He was interrupted by a the sound of the office door opening and the scent of Cinnabar. He looked up to see Maggie entering the office, smiling when he saw her. When Maggie was off duty, she tended to dress like a hippie and today was no exception. Her silver hair was done in one long windblown braid that fell down her back. She was wearing a pair of low heeled sandals and a long pale green dress made of gauzy cotton and embroidered with roses and Shasta daisies.

"I've got your things, love," she said. "Now you can look like a cop instead of a sailor." She hung the suit bag on the coat-rack behind his desk. She turned to open the doors of the lanai to catch the breeze only to have Steve grab her roughly around the waist and pull her away from the doors.

"Hey!" she said, as the dull throbbing ache in her back screamed to life, reminding her once again that her spine was held together with about six pounds of titanium. "Dammit, that freaking hurt!" she complained. Her lips had gone white and she was swaying on her feet, trying to remain upright.

"Baby, I'm sorry," Steve whispered, holding her close."I didn't mean to hurt you. John Manicote was shot this afternoon and we don't know if the sniper is done or just getting started."

"Someone shot John?" she asked. "Is he going to be okay? How's Sharon holding up?"

"He's still hanging in there. Sharon got to the hospital just as I was leaving. Doc says John has a good chance at a full recovery."

"She must be frantic. I'll stop by the hospital on my way home and see if she needs anything. Any idea who did it, or why?" Maggie asked, shifting into reporter mode.

"Not at this time. That's why the blinds are closed. I'm getting too old to dodge bullets." He saw the look of concern on Maggie's face and had to smile. "I know that look. You're channeling your inner reporter."

"More like channeling my inner worried cop's wife," she said, her eyes meeting his with that steady, intelligent gaze that had so intrigued him from the moment he had met her. "I know whatever it was that Danny called about this morning had to be important, and now John's been shot. Why do I have a feeling this is all connected?"

"Truthfully, at this time, I don't know if it is. But until I do, I promise to stay away from the windows." He buried his face in her hair and held her until she was once more steady on her feet. "I may be getting home later tonight than I anticipated. Will you be okay home alone?"

"I'll be fine," she said. "If you're working late, then I know Duke will be too. I'll see if Susan and Lillie want to come over for dinner. Which reminds me, thank you."

"For what?" he asked, teasingly.

"Don't try that innocent act with me. The house is a construction zone. It's kind of hard not to notice a major remodel. Thank you for the new addition. Charlie is still promising it'll be done by Saturday at the latest, and since I don't want to listen to hammers all day, I'm going back to work tomorrow."

"You're welcome. Anything for my Little _Menehune_. Are you sure you want to go back to work tomorrow? You're on leave until Sunday night."

"I'm sure," she said. "You're going to be working your usual horrible hours and won't be home so I may as well go back to work. I'll stop by my office and sign in from leave before I drop by the hospital. It'll give me something to do besides worry about you."

"I will make this up to you," he said. "I promise."

"You keep telling me that," she said, giving him that mischievous little half-smile that he'd come to love.

"I know," he said, as he held her closer. "Do you think you can put up with my crazy schedule for six more years?"

"Sweetie, I can put up with just about anything as long as you come home to me. That's all." She wrapped her arms around his neck and stood on tiptoe to kiss him. "So wear the vest and take the blood pressure medicine. I don't think I could stand it if anything ever happened to you."

"I'm not going anywhere," he said, returning her kiss.

He held her until Jenny buzzed in on the intercom. "Steve," she said hesitantly, "ADA Gleeson is here to see you."

"Send her in, please," McGarrett said.

Gleeson breezed in with a walk that wouldn't have been out of place on a catwalk during New York's fashion week.

Both women gave each other a thorough once over as McGarrett introduced them. "Maggie, this is assistant DA Regina Gleeson, Gina, this is my wife, Maggie."

Maggie could trot out the southern charm on demand. "Pleased to meet you," she said, her drawl becoming thicker as she extended her hand.

"Likewise," Gina said. "Nice bag. Is that a Coach?" _So this is Steve's wife. He's married a mini hippie._

There was something about the ADA that was setting off Maggie's jealousy alarm. The woman looked like she belonged in _Vogue_ , not the DA's office. Her makeup was perfect and she didn't have a hair out of place. Maggie unconsciously reached up smooth down her windblown hair. "No, it's a Dooney. Nice shoes. Wish I could still wear heels," she said sighing. At five-one Maggie had worn heels from the time she was fourteen until a Republican Guard mortar round had left her with a wired together spine. "I know y'all are busy so I'll be on my way. Steve, honey, I'll see you when you get home."

"I'll walk you to your car," Steve said."

"Nonsense," Maggie said. "I can find my own way out. Besides, the sooner you find out who shot John, the sooner you get home. Ms Gleason, it was good meeting you. We'll have to do lunch sometime."

Steve walked Maggie to the door and kissed her good-bye, frowning at the slight limp that was a permanent reminder of how close he'd come to losing her.

"So, that's your wife," Gina said, smiling. "Isn't she a bit young for you?"

"She's five years older than you are," Steve said.

"Tiny little thing. What does she do for a living, that is besides being married to you?"

"She's a sergeant first class with the Army, that is until she retires in October. And that remark was uncalled for." McGarrett said.

"You're right. I'm sorry," Gina said. "There's something about you that always manages to bring out the bitch in me. Career army, is she?"

"Yes; she writes for the _Stars and Stripes_. What's up, Gina? I know you didn't come here to grill me about my wife. How's John?"

"Still in surgery. We won't know anything until later on this afternoon." Gina said. "I came to bring you this." She opened her briefcase, taking out an envelope encased in a plastic ziploc bag. "It was on John's desk when I got back to the office, brought over by a bike messenger. I tried not to touch the surface when I put it in the baggie, just in case there are fingerprints. The name of the messenger company is stamped on the back. I have a feeling they're going to remember whoever sent this out."

It was a plain white business size envelope. Manicote's name and the address of the DA's office had been printed from the government website, cut out, and glued to the front of the envelope. Someone had then used a felt tipped marker to outline the label in black.

He didn't have to open the letter to know who it was from.

* * *

O-O-O-O-O

McGarrett called the lab to tell Chin to stay there, that he and Danny were on their way. Then after a quick shower and shave he changed into the suit and tie Maggie had brought him, strapped on his service revolver, and dropped his badge and ID in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He was ready for anything.

"New suit?" Danny asked when he met McGarrett on the stairs out front.

"Maggie picked it out," he said. "She likes this color."

"You do realize that every time you get a suit that color you end up ruining it by getting in a fight, or getting shot, or covered with with something nasty from a crime scene. You should stick to gray or black."

"Very funny," McGarrett said, glaring at his second in command. "Time to go to work. We just heard from Mother's Helper." He held the clear evidence bag up for Danny to see as he buckled his seat belt.

"You sure it's him?" Danny asked as he sped out of the parking lot.

"It's either him or a darn good copycat. Gina found the letter on John's desk. It was delivered by bike messenger at 11:47. The secretary logged it in just before she went to lunch. Duke's headed over to bike courier's main office now. He'll call as soon as he knows something. Che's going to get this one fresh. Hopefully we can find more fingerprints than those of the bike messenger and John's secretary."

Honolulu traffic was horrible. Danny turned on lights and sirens even though they weren't on an emergency call. It was that or sit in traffic. Danny dodged a kid on a bright yellow crotch rocket as he turned the corner. "I don't suppose a new building with everything under one roof was on your proposal for renovating Five-O?"

"Maybe," Steve said, wondering why he hadn't thought of that himself.

* * *

O-O-O-O-O

The main office for _Ready Message_ was at the corner of Richards and Queen street, just across the street from the post office and close enough to every government building in the city to make their services in constant demand. Their messengers, mostly high school and college kids, were fast, efficient, and would deliver anything that would fit in a messenger bag or the baskets strapped to the handlebars of their bikes.

The business was owned by a young Vietnamese man named Tran. Duke knew the man by reputation and by rumor that sometimes the bike messengers would augment their income by delivering illegal drugs. It was only rumor, but it was a rumor that Duke was planning on looking into in the near future. The inside of the building was split into two large rooms divided by a cinder block wall dominated by two very large windows. The front housed the business portion, the back the area where the messengers awaited their next assignment and performed routine maintenance on their bikes. Duke flashed his badge and asked to speak to the boss.

"I have a few questions about a message that was delivered to the District Attorney's office this morning," Duke said, giving the office area a good long look, trying to spot anything that was out of place. "It had the DA's name on the front and a _Ready Message_ stamp on the back. Do you remember the person who brought in the message, or did you have to pick the message up from another location?"

It was easy to see that Tran was not happy with a Five-O detective dropping in for a visit. Tran's parents had fled Vietnam before he was born. He had grown up listening to their horror stories about the Ho Chi Min City police force. He had inherited the deep distrust that most refugees have towards the police. He considered his options and decided that in this case, cooperation would be prudent.

"Yeah, I remember that one. Kind of hard not to. Had a glued on label with a black border around it, like some sort of frame," Tran said. "We enter everything into a log book when it comes in. Give me a minute and I'll get you the name of the person who brought it in." Tran took a large cloth covered ledger from his secretary and began thumbing through it. "Here we go. Message brought in at 1055 by one Heath Barkley, delivered to the DA's office by Kimo Kahala at 1145."

"Heath Barkley was the name he used?" Duke asked. "Are you sure?"

"That's what's written in the logbook. The only time we ask for ID is when we're delivering packages or if the customer wants insurance. This was just one envelope."

"I take it you didn't watch a lot of the old Westerns on TV when you were growing up."

"Nope, wasn't a fan. Why's that?" Tran asked. He ran the bike courier shop by day and attended classes at the University at night. The only time he ever watched TV was when the soccer games were on.

"Because Heath Barkley was a character on a Western called _The Big Valley_." Duke said, mentally checking off one more item on his list that pointed to the missing fugitive; obsessed with the old West.

"That's a new one on me," Tran said. "I've got the message receipt in the files if you need to see it."

"That would be helpful, thank you. Did you take the message, or was it someone else, and would you be able to recognize the person if you saw them again?" Duke asked.

"Linda took the message, but I got a good look at him when he came in. He was a haole. And by that I mean seriously haole. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. Not a local for sure," Tran said, looking past Duke and out the front window at the car pulling into the parking spot next to Duke's Crown Vic.

"Other than that, was he tall or short, old or young?"

"Young, late twenties at the most, medium height, stocky build. Looked like he worked out, you know the type, a gym rat." Tran said, doing a double take out the front window. Odds of this ever happening were slim to none. Tonight he was going gambling for sure. "And it looks like he's going to be a repeat customer."

Duke turned as the bell over the door chimed to alert the staff to an incoming customer.

"Back so soon, Mr. Barkley?" Tran asked.

Barkley was holding a stack of white envelopes. Duke could make out the black borders around the address labels.

"I need all these delivered to Iolani Palace within the hour," Barkley said.

"I think I can save you the delivery fee," Duke said, flashing his badge.

Barkley threw the envelopes at Duke, shoving him backwards as he did. Duke stumbled into the counter, momentarily losing his balance, but regaining it quickly enough. Barkley was already at the door. "Halt!" he said reaching into his coat pocket for handcuffs. "Up against the wall, now!"

Barkley spun around to face Duke, pulling a 9mm Glock from under his shirt as he did. Duke drew his own weapon, leveling it at Barkley. "Drop it, kid! You do not want to do this today. Put the gun down!"

"Yeah, right," Barkley said. "As if." He fired wildly, bullets flying everywhere, one grazing Tran's upper arm, another destroying the computer monitor on the secretary's desk, and two more hitting Duke in the chest. Duke got off one shot. It was enough. It went through Barkley's sternum and exploded his heart.

Tran was shouting at his secretary. "Don't just stand there! Call 911! Oh, crap, why me?" One look told him Barkley was dead. He jumped the counter, hoping like hell the cop was still breathing. "Hey, Brudah, you okay?" He didn't see any blood but the cop seemed to be having trouble breathing. At least he was still alive. "Hang in there, Brudah, there's an ambulance on the way."

Duke was trying to sit up. He felt like he'd been hit by a truck. "It's okay," he managed to get out. "Kevlar rocks. Someone call my wife, please?"

* * *

O-O-O-O-O

Chin was waiting when McGarrett and Williams got to the lab. He gave McGarrett an evidence bag containing two brass shell casings.

"Looks like a couple of 44/40's," McGarrett said.

"Exactly," Chin said. "Looks like Mother's Helper is back in town. Has he started sending out letters yet?"

"This one was delivered to John Manicote's office around noon," McGarrett said, frowning, as he handed the evidence bag to Che. "The assistant ADA found and bagged it for us. It hasn't been touched. Che, do you stuff. I need to know if McKenzie is back for a return engagement."

Che took the baggie, and using a pair of long tweezers carefully removed the envelope. Then, taking a thin sharp letter opener, he slit the top of the envelope, preserving the seal for DNA testing. Inside was a single sheet of bond paper, plain white with a black border. Che carefully placed the paper into a large envelope with a clear front, making it possible to read the document without leaving fingerprints or contaminating any trace evidence present.

"It looks like you may be right, Steve," Che said. "Only this time he's got an ink jet printer and computer access." He passed the letter to McGarrett.

"It's McKenzie alright," McGarrett said. "Except this time he's not writing fan letters. At the top of the page in bold letters, underlined and in italics no less, he's got the words 'Death Warrant'. Listen to this; ' _Having been found guilty in the court of public opinion, you, John Manicote, are sentenced to be shot on sight. May God have mercy on your bleeding heart, politically correct, commie pinko soul_.' Same rhetoric as last time."

"How'd he sign it?" Danny asked.

"How do you think? _"_ McGarrett said _. "_ Here's the rest of it _: I see you're still in charge of Five-O, Steve. You'd a thought someone would have managed to knock you off by now. When I'm done all the right thinking people on this Rock will be ready to lynch your sorry ass. Until then, I'll sign this the with the name that you know best. Watch your step, Stevie. Can't have you getting killed until I'm ready to pull the trigger. Yours for law and order the way that it should be, Mother's Helper.'"_

"That confirms it," Danny said. "McKenzie's back. How long before he starts shooting at anything wearing a uniform?"

"Che, see if you can get fingerprints off that. Then see if there's anything unique about the printer or the ink McKenzie used."

"Will do," Che said. "If McKenzie licked that envelope to seal it, I may be able to place him at the crime scene." He held up a small plastic bag containing what looked like a wad of dirty grey plastic.

"What's that?" McGarrett asked.

"Gum, Boss," Chin said. "Found it not two feet from the shell casings. Also found a couple of gum wrappers. Won't know if it's McKenzie's until Che gets done with it, but I'm almost sure it is. If you recall, during the trial every time you saw McKenzie he was chomping away like a cow chewing its cud. Always had a mouthful of gum. Never saw him without it."

"If he left DNA on the envelope seal, and we get a match from the gum, you have your man." Che said.

"That's the easy part. The hard part is going to be finding McKenzie before he kills again." McGarrett's cell phone was ringing. He answered it the way he always did. "McGarrett."

He listened intently. "On our way. Don't let anyone call his wife. I'll take care of that. Got it? Thanks," he said. "Danno, with me. Someone just shot up the _Ready Message_ office. Duke's been shot. Chin, go to Ft Shafter and let Susan know. I'll call Maggie and have her meet you there. Let's go."

"How bad is it?" Danny asked.

"Don't know. Compton is at the scene and he says Duke was wearing a Kevlar vest. He was shot twice from close range with a 9mm. Even with a vest those thing pack one hell of a punch."

The three men ran out the building and down the stairs to their waiting cars.

"Lights and siren's, please," McGarrett said as Danny sped out of the parking lot. He took out his cell phone and hit speed dial. "Maggie, honey, I need you to do something for me..."


	6. Chapter 6

O-O-O-O-O

The EMT's had Duke on the stretcher when McGarrett and Williams arrived. Duke was sitting up and trying to convince the EMT's that he didn't need to go to the hospital.

"Stop arguing with the medics," McGarrett said. "You're starting to sound like your wife."

"She's gonna be upset," Duke said, "First day back at work and my new vest gets ruined."

"Not as upset as she'd be if you hadn't been wearing it." McGarrett said. His vest was still hanging in his locker back at Iolani. Maggie and Susan had used some of their military connections to procure the latest generation of lightweight Kevlar vests for all the Five-O detectives. Steve had a brief twinge of guilt. He hadn't given the vest a thought when he'd gotten dressed that afternoon. He planned on correcting that oversight as soon as he got back to Iolani. With Mother's Helper out loose somewhere on the Island, the extra protection seemed prudent. "Chin and Maggie went to pick Susan up. She'll be at Queens waiting for you. HPD sent a couple of cars to get your kids. They don't need to hear about their dad getting shot from CNN or from some reporter sticking a camera in their face while they're changing classes. Okay, boys, get him to the hospital." The EMT's loaded Duke into the ambulance as he protested that he didn't need to go to the hospital.

"Steve," Danny said, handing him a pair of gloves, "have a look at this." He held a stack of white envelopes, each one bearing a label printed from the state website glued to the front and framed in black. "Looks like Mother's Helper is sending out more death warrants."

McGarrett read the names on the envelopes: Dan Williams, Chin Ho Kelly, Ben Kokua, Steve McGarrett, and Jenny Sherman.

"He's got one addressed to Jenny. Get a couple of HPD officers over to the palace," Steve said.

"Already sent," Danny said. "I'm having her husband and kids picked up by HPD. They're going to spend the next few days at the Illiki, courtesy of Five-O and the state of Hawaii."

"Good," Steve said. "Where's Ben Kokua these days? Still with the DEA?"

"Still with the DEA, working out of San Diego. I noticed Kono isn't on the list. Wasn't he on loan out to Interpol during the first round of Mother's Helper?"

"Complained about the weather in Europe the entire time he was there, and gained twenty pounds from French pastry, Belgium chocolate, and strudel. Looks like McKenzie hasn't updated his files, because Duke isn't in this batch either. Any ID on the dead man?"

"Lots," said Danny. "Check this out." Williams emptied the evidence bag he was holding on the counter. "Let's see, we've got Heath Barkley, Adam Cartwright, Matt Dillon, and Stoney Burke. Our boy loved his westerns. But the one you want is this one." Danny took a North Dakota drivers license from the bag. "His real name is Stephen Austin Smith. I want to wait until we can ID him with fingerprints or dental records to be sure, but I'm convinced this is McKenzie's son."

"When he finds out his kid's dead, he's going to go crazier than he already is. Get some guards on Duke at the hospital. No one sees him unless they've been cleared by me or Chief Dann."

"Ahead of you on that one, too," Danny said. "We need to catch McKenzie quick."

"I think we've done all we can do here. I need to pick up my car. Drop me off at my house. I'll head for Queens to check on Duke and John. Get that FBI profiler on the line, see if he's got any idea what a creep like McKenzie is going to do. And get a phone patch and a secure computer terminal at the Illikai for Jenny. We're practically dead in the water without her."

Danny could only agree with McGarrett. Jenny kept Five-O running smoothly.

Compton met them at the sidewalk. He pointed to a late model blue Ford Taurus. "That's the shooter's car, sir. No one's touched it yet. I guess we were too busy worrying about Sgt. Lukela."

"Have it impounded and towed to the lab. Tell Che to go over it with a fine toothed comb. Find out if it was stolen or if he bought it, and if he did from whom and how did he pay for it. And run those plates. They're probably stolen but do it anyway. The location the plates were stolen from may give us an idea where to start looking."

"Will do, sir. Please let Mrs. First Sgt Lukela know that if she needs anything all she has to do is call me or Ivory."

McGarrett raised an eyebrow. "Mrs. First Sgt. Lukela? I don't think that's a rank."

"Don't know what else to call her, sir," Robbie said, looking baffled. "If I call them both Sgt Lukela it gets confusing." He saluted McGarrett and went to his patrol car to get the form needed for impounding a vehicle.

McGarrett got into Danny's Crown Vic, deep in thought. The last year had brought some major changes to the lives of the Five-O detectives. All because he'd met that little silver haired Army sergeant. Now an office full of confirmed bachelors had turned into an office full of happy newlyweds. _We all married enlisted women,_ he thought, _beautiful, brilliant, strong women. How'd we ever get so damned lucky?_

"Penny for your thoughts," Danny said, wondering why Steve was so quiet.

"Danno, there isn't enough gold in Ft Knox to pay for what I'm thinking," he said. "Let's go get this creep before someone else gets hurt."

* * *

O-O-O-O-O

Chin parked next to Maggie's little yellow Mustang. She was standing on the steps of the building talking to Colonel Dale, nervously chewing on her thumbnail.

"Chin," she said, giving the Chinese detective a quick hug. "What the hell's going on? Steve said to wait until you got here before we tell Susan. What happened."

"Duke was shot twice at close range with a 9mm semi auto." Chin said. "The vest stopped the bullets but it didn't stop the shock wave. He's being transported to Queens, and that's all I know for now. This is the worse part of the damned job. I don't like bringing bad news."

Colonel Dale patted Chin on the shoulder. "She's in my command and I've known her for years. This ones on me." He sighed at the unavoidable. "Let's go. The sooner she finds out, the sooner she can get to the hospital. Any questions?"

"None," Chin said as Maggie shook her head. They followed the Colonel into the building.

It was Susan's first day back at work after her honeymoon. She was catching up on the paperwork that had accumulated over the holidays. Earlier that afternoon she'd surreptitiously unbuttoned her skirt, thankful that the new dress shirt didn't have to be tucked in. She was in the fourth month of a very unexpected pregnancy and her baby bump was starting to show. Her after work plans for the evening included a stop at the post tailor shop on the off chance they had maternity uniforms in her size.

There was a soft knock on her door. She looked up as Maggie, Colonel Dale, and Chin Ho Kelly entered. It felt as if the temperature in the room had dropped twenty degrees. Maggie wasn't even suppose to be there; she should have been out sailing with her new husband and shouldn't have been anywhere near Ft Shafter. Maggie's unexpected return coupled with the presence of Chin Ho and the Colonel, only meant one thing.

"No," Susan said. "No, whatever it is, you're wrong. No." She got up and was swaying on her feet. Colonel Dale went around the desk, embracing the tall blonde.

"Duke's been hurt," the colonel said. "Not badly, but he's going to the hospital."

"He was shot twice in the chest," Chin Ho said, "but he was wearing Kevlar. For now it looks like all he's got is a couple of broken ribs but he's going to Queens to get checked out. Maggie is going to drive you and I'm going to escort you with lights and sirens. HPD has already sent a couple of squad cars to get the kids from school."

"He's not...?" Susan couldn't say the word.

"No, Susan," Chin said, reaching out to take her hand. "That vest you got him for Christmas just saved his life."

"Susan," Colonel Dale said, calling her by her given name instead of her rank, "I don't want to see you back in here tomorrow unless Duke's up and hula dancing around the room. I'll drop by later this evening to check on things. "

Maggie helped Susan get into her jacket. "Damn, girl, the little one is making himself known."

"I was going to stop by the tailor shop after work," Susan said. "Duke had better be okay. I am too old to be single parent."

As they were getting in Maggie's car, Ivory Thompson came running up. "Robbie called and told me Sgt Lukela's been hurt," she said, breathless. "Let me know if you need anything." She gave Susan a quick hug as she shut the door for her.

Chin Ho backed the big Crown Vic out of the parking slot and hit lights and sirens. Maggie pulled out being him. When they went through the front gate, he put the pedal down. Traffic moved out of his way as they sped down the street towards Queens Hospital.

* * *

O-O-O-O-O

Duke was already in an exam room when Susan and Maggie got to Queens Hospital. Susan had a mini meltdown when one of the nurses told her she was going to have to wait until the doctors were done before she could see her husband. Maggie managed to get her to the waiting area while Chin Ho went to get her a cup of tea.

"Susan, honey, he's going to be okay," Maggie said, hoping like hell she was telling the truth. "He was wearing Kevlar. He's probably just got a few bruised ribs, is all. You'll see."

"Where's that damned doctor?" Susan demanded. "And will someone please tell me why the damned coroner is taking care of the entire Five-O team? He cuts up dead people, for Christ's sake."

"That's because the dead ones don't argue with me and are a lot quieter," Doc Bergman said. He was done with his exam and had already notified the specialists who would be taking care of Duke. "Susan, we need to talk before you go in to see your husband."

"Is he going to be okay, Doc?" Susan said, trying not to choke on her tears.

"Susan, Duke was shot twice at close range by a 9mm handgun firing hollow point bullets. He was hit in the lower left chest. He was wearing Kevlar, which saved his life. If he hadn't been wearing that vest, we'd be having a much different conversation." Doc paused and took Susan's hands in his. "You're military so there's no use trying to hide the facts. That vest stopped the bullets, but it didn't stop the shock wave. He's got three broken ribs, a punctured lung, and internal bleeding that I'm pretty sure is coming from damage done to his spleen."

"He's going to be alright, isn't he? He has to be," Susan was sobbing. The tough woman in uniform was gone and in her place was a women fearing for her husband's life.

"His condition is serious, but not life threatening. I have a feeling you're going to have your work cut out for you keeping him off a surfboard for the next few weeks," Doc said. "He's asking for you. Dry the tears and let him know you're here."

Susan nodded. "The kids are on their way."

"I will let them know," Maggie said. "Go see your husband."

"This way Mrs. Lukela," Doc said, helping her up.

"One day I'll get use to that," she said.

Doc Bergman escorted her into the exam room. "He got a big shot of painkillers a few minutes ago so he may not make a whole lot of sense. Just let him know you're here."

Duke was half sitting, half lying on the hospital bed, hooked to IV's and medical equipment that beeped and chirped with his eyes closed. Susan took his hand in hers. "Duke, sweetie, can you hear me."

His opened a bit wider. "My Kukana, you're here."

"Where else would I be, silly man?" She held his hand to her cheek.

"Don't cry, baby. I'm going to be okay. Just a couple of broken ribs."

"You'd better be. One of us is going to have to teach the little one to surf and it's not going to be me."

"I love you, my Kukana." he whispered.

"I love you, too," she said. Suddenly she went rigid, as if she were afraid to move. She held her breath, then slowly let it out.

"Susan, honey, you okay," he asked.

"I'm fine, more than fine," she took his hand and placed it palm down over the slight curve of her belly.

Even through the fog of the pain medication he could feel the soft fluttering underneath his palm.

"Is that what I think it is?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, smiling through her tears. "That's our baby. He's telling you to get better, because he really needs his daddy."

"Our baby," he said, closing his eyes. "Our son."

One of the nurses came in to tell her it was time to take Duke to surgery. She had time for one last kiss before they took him away.

Maggie was sitting in the waiting room when Susan returned. "You okay," she asked.

Susan was smiling. Duke was going to surgery and Susan was smiling.

"I'm fine," Susan said. "And so's the little one. He waited until now to start kicking." She gently lowered herself onto the sofa. She looked up to catch a fleeting glimpse of sadness that Maggie tried to hide. "Sweetie, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm fine," Maggie said. "Really. Don't ever apologize for being happy."

"I won't," Susan said. "I don't know how I got so lucky. I thought I was going to be one of those old non-coms that keeps re-enlisting until the Army forcibly retires them or they drop dead while running PT. Then I met Duke. I can't believe how much I love that man. It's like a fairy tale. Our kids get along and they're all excited about the baby. I don't know how I managed to get so lucky, I'm just happy I did."

"See," Maggie said, "Everything is going to be as right as rain."

"Yes," Susan said. "I'm retiring after this hitch, if not sooner. I'm going to be the most awesome stay at home mom there ever was. I'm going to get to do all the things I missed out on when Sophie was growing up. It's not very often that you get a do over in life. Only I got one, and I'm going to make every last minute of it count."

"Looks like not even retirement is going to separate us," Maggie said, smiling, trying not to feel envious of Susan's pregnancy. There was a brief commotion as Eddie and Lillie ran into the room to catch both women in a family hug. Susan explained what had happened and that Duke's injuries were not life threatening. Maggie decided to let the family have a moment of privacy. She got a cup of tea from the coffee shop and found a patch of deep shade on the lanai, crying silently as she sipped her tea.


	7. Chapter 7

He was growing impatient. Austin should have been back hours ago. They were on a timetable and the next target was due to go down at sundown.

Except Austin had the wheels and the dismantled rifle secreted in the bogus oxygen tank and the semi auto Glock hidden in his waistband. His next target would be getting off work soon. She was the only female on the list and he'd hesitated about including a woman until Austin had pointed out that she was married to a Jew. He had added in a charge of race mixing to her death warrant. She had sold out her race by not only marrying a Jew but by also bringing three mixed race children into the world. _More mud people,_ he thought _. She's getting a quick bullet to the back of the head, then we dump her on McGarrett's doorstep. That'll get his attention._

Or at least that was the plan. He checked his watch and turned on the small TV that came with the furnished apartment. Time for the early news. So far there hadn't been much coverage of the sniper attack that had put Manicote in the hospital. He was certain the DA was dead and the news media was covering it up, the same way they covered up the facts the last time he had brought his version of vigilante justice to the streets of Honolulu. Not for long, though. He wondered if he was going to need to hire an agent to handle all the requests for interviews he was going to get.

The channel nine news came on promptly at five. He recognized the reporter sitting at the anchor desk he shared with a middle aged Asian women.

"This just in," Meyers began. "Its been a day of gun violence here in Honolulu. Paradise is indeed getting more dangerous. Today, just as court was reconvening after a noontime recess, District Attorney John Manicote was felled by a sniper's bullet. The DA was entering the courthouse when shots rang out. He was taken to Queen's Hospital where he remains in guarded condition. Then not two hours later, the offices of _Ready Message_ was the scene of a shootout between Five-O detective Edward Lukela and an unknown assailant. Detective Sergeant Lukela was at the messenger service attending to another matter when the assailant opened fire with a semi automatic handgun. Lukela returned fire, killing the shooter, however he was injured in gun battle and has been taken to Queen's Hospital where he remains in serious, but stable condition. The identity of the shooter has as yet to be released, pending notification of next of kin. When asked if the two incidents were related, Five-O commander Steve McGarrett had no comment." Meyers turned to his co-anchor. "Gun violence is becoming all to common here in the Islands. It's as if Paradise is becoming plagued by serpents."

"So true, Mark, an ugly aspect of life here on our beautiful Island. Our prayers are going out to the injured, along with the hope that this is only a fluke and not the start of a trend." The small Asian women was starting to get on McKenzie's nerves. He shut off the TV as a sense of dread descended. Austin had gone to _Ready Message_ with the latest batch of death warrants. He had a horrible feeling his son wasn't coming back.

O-O-O-O-O

 _I'm developing an intense dislike for this place,_ McGarrett thought as he entered the trauma wing of Queen's Hospital. His job brought him to the hospital more often than he cared to remember. He could practically navigate the corridors of the trauma unit with his eyes closed. He found Maggie and Susan in the waiting area. Susan had once more donned her non-com armor and looked as if she was ready for anything. Lillie and Maggie sat on either side of her, talking quietly, hoping that when the doctor's finally came out to speak to them, it would be good news. Eddie was on a run to the coffee shop to get tea for the women. Eddie, Steve decided, was turning into a very thoughtful young man who had inherited his father's sense of duty. But what amazed McGarrett most was how excited both Lillie and Eddie were to have gained a new sister, even if she did live on the mainland and they'd only met once, and how all three of the kids were thrilled that they had a little brother on the way. Duke Lukela was one lucky _kanaka._

Maggie rose to greet her husband only to stumble into him as her back muscles knotted into a cramp.

"Easy, baby," Steve said as he put an arm around her to steady her.

"Thanks, hon," she said, looking up at her husband. "It doesn't matter if the hospital is civilian or military, the chairs in the waiting area are always uncomfortable and it's always too damned cold."

"How's it going," Steve asked. "Any word from Duke or John?"

"You just missed Sharon," Maggie said. "John's out of surgery and in recovery. His doctors say everything is looking good and expect him to be up and around by the end of the week. Sharon's with him now. Karen went home to get some things for her mom and should be back soon."

"That's good to hear," Steve said. "Any word from Duke?"

"Not yet," Susan said.

"How are you holding up?" Steve asked, concerned. Susan was in the second trimester of a very unexpected pregnancy. Because of her age and status as both a Gulf War vet and a cancer survivor, she'd had to undergo a battery of prenatal medical testing. Duke had been there for every doctor's visit and every test the staff at Tripler's ob/gyn department could think up. A week before their wedding a very relieved Dr. Sessums had called them into her office to tell them their worries were over, and that on the first day of May, they would be the parents of a very healthy baby boy.

"I'm fine," Susan said. "Really. Just a little tired, is all." Susan's daughter had been born when she was twenty-four. As much as she was enjoying her mid life pregnancy, she was learning there was a big difference between being pregnant at forty-three than at twenty-four.

"When we know that Daddy's out of surgery and doing well, I'm going to take her home and make her lie down." Lillie said. Her mother had passed away from breast cancer when she was just fifteen. Susan had filled a huge gap in Lillie's life at a time when she had needed a mother the most.

"Lillie, I'm fine," Susan said. Lillie and Eddie were great kids, a bit overprotective at times, though. "I'm not going anywhere until I know your father is going to be okay." She looked up expectantly as the door opened, her face fell a bit when she saw it was Eddie bearing a cardboard tray laden with cups of fresh tea. "Eddie, you are a love, thanks, sweetie," she said, recovering nicely.

Eddie passed around cups of tea. Susan took hers, but just held it in her hands without drinking any.

"Steve, honey, could you come with me a minute, please?" Maggie asked.

"Sure," he said. "What's wrong?" he asked when they were in the corridor.

"Nothing, really, except I think I should spend the night over at Susan's, just in case. God forbid if anything should happen to Duke in the middle of the night with just her and the kids at the house. Do you mind?"

"Not in the least," Steve said, bending to kiss her. "I don't know what time I'm going to get home as it is. Or even if I'll make it home at all. I'll feel much better knowing you aren't home alone. I take it you didn't sign in from leave yet, either?"

"Thanks, sweetie. No, not yet, but with Susan out I'm the acting first sergeant. That means I'm going back to work sometime tomorrow, just not the usual oh dark thirty. By the way, did I get a chance to tell you how much I love you today?" she asked.

"Not since about seven this morning, and that was at least ten hours ago," he said.

She smiled up at him. "I love you, Steve McGarrett. Now go catch the bad guys. That's what you do best. Love you." She stood on tip toe to kiss him.

O-O-O-O-O

 _My little Menehune_ , he thought as he left the hospital, _how did I survive without you?_ His cell phone rang as he was getting into the car. Danno's name popped up on the caller ID.

"What do you have?" Steve asked.

"All around trouble and bad news," Danny said. "I'm at the morgue. You're gonna have to see this to believe it. Then Che's got more for us at the lab. It's getting to be one of those days when you don't want to answer your phone because you know you're not going to like what you hear. So tell me something good. How are Duke and John and how soon can you get here?"

"John's out of surgery and doing well. Duke's still in but so far so good. I'll be at the morgue in ten." He snapped the phone closed as he pulled out into traffic.

Danno was waiting for him. "Steve, you gotta see this. Doc got a positive ID on the body from fingerprints that were on file with the FBI. It's McKenzie's kid alright."

"Why did the FBI have his prints?" Steve asked. "Does he have a criminal record with the Feds?"

"I don't have the answer for that just yet, but Chin is checking on that now," he stopped at a set of double doors and swiped a key card to open them. "You need to see this kid's body."

Doc Bergman was waiting for them in the operating theater along with the sheet draped corpse of Stephen Austin Smith. For a man who spent most of his time looking at what was left of human beings, Bergman was showing more emotion than usual. He looked both disgusted and angry at the same time.

"What you got for me, Doc?" McGarrett asked.

"Easier to show you that to tell you," Bergman said, flipping back the sheet.

On the gurney lay the body of a young man with the kind of muscles that you get from pumping iron for two hours a day, seven days a week. But the real shock came from the tattoos. The tats were positioned to be easily covered by a long sleeved shirt. The young man's torso was covered with them. There were the the twin lightning bolts of the SS, several iron crosses, and tattoo's of runes from the Aryan Brotherhood. Twin swastika's adorned each shoulder just under the collar bones.

"I thought this kind of crap went out in the '40's," Bergman said. "I bet he's going to be turning over in his grave at the thought of a Jewish doctor doing his autopsy. Danny, give me a hand turning him over, the good one's on his back."

Smith's back was covered with a huge German war eagle complete with swastikas and the SS lightening bolts clutched in it's talons.

"Looks like junior here has been hanging out with a bad crowd. I wonder if McKenzie found some new friends in lock up." McGarrett said.

"Chin's calling the FBI and the North Dakota state police for information about neo-nazi's in the Greeley area," Danny said. "There are a lot of militias and paramilitary groups in that part of the country. Why I don't know. Seems like that area attracts the oddballs."

"Thanks, Doc," Steve said. "You mentioned that Che had something for us at the lab."

"More fun surprises," Danny said. "I'll meet you there. I need to stop by the computer lab first. Mendoza called a few minutes ago with a follow up on McKenzie's records."

"Tell her to do her magic and run Junior here through every database she can think off and see what she comes up with. Have her email it to my office when she gets it. Find out if Smith had any contacts here and when you do, find them and get warrants for their arrest. I will not tolerate this crap in these Islands. Not now or ever."

"Gotcha, Boss," Danny said. According to Smith's driver's license he was 24 years old. What kind of a life did the kid have, to be so immersed in a hate driven movement that he used his body as a billboard? What could he have done with a decent education away from the group that had indoctrinated him. Danny shook his head sadly, astonished at finding he was feeling sorry for the kid.

O-O-O-O-O

Susan was still staring at her untouched cup of tea when the door of the waiting room opened and the doctor stepped in, smiling.

"Which one of you is Mrs. Lukela?" he asked.

"Me," said Susan, standing up. "How's my husband? Is he okay?"

"I'm Dr. Richardson," he said, extending his hand. "I didn't realize you were in the Army, or that you were pregnant. Not to worry, your husband is out of surgery and in recovery. He's going to be just fine. I repaired the damage to his lung and the injury to his spleen is repairing itself. For now he's got a chest tube and he's getting some extra oxygen to help him breathe. You can see him as soon as the nurses get him settled into ICU."

"Why is he in ICU?" Susan asked, alarmed.

"It's a precautionary measure, Mrs. Lukela, nothing to be worried about. He'll probably be out of ICU and into a room by tomorrow afternoon. Until then, we're going to take good care of him."

"See, Mom," Lillie said, "I told you he'd be alright."

"Yeah," Eddie said, "Dad's pretty tough for an old guy." They both caught Susan in a family hug.

"I'll have the nurse come get you when they're done," Dr. Richardson said, "Mrs. Lukela, after you've spoken to your husband, you need to go home and get some rest yourself. You're not going to do your husband any good if he's worrying about you and the baby."

He left to check with the nurses.

"You heard the man, Mom," Lillie said. "As soon as you see Daddy, it's home and to bed with you."

"I'll stay with Dad," Eddie said. "I already called my adviser and he said not to worry. Classes don't start until next week and all I'll miss is orientation."

"There you go, Susan, no excuses," Maggie said.

"My car is still at Shafter," Susan said.

"It'll be fine in the parking lot."

Any other discussion ended when the nurse came in to let them know they could see Duke.

"Y'all go ahead," Maggie said, not wanting to intrude on family time. "I need to call Steve and let him know that Duke's going to be okay."

"Thanks, Auntie Magic," Lillie said as she hugged Maggie.

Maggie waited until the little group was out the door before she went outside to call Steve. Lillie had called her Auntie Magic. Sophie had started calling her that when she three and couldn't pronounce 'Maggie' properly. She still called her that and Lillie had picked up the habit. _That's me_ , she thought, _always the auntie but never the mom, but I'll take whatever I can get._ Lillie was a delightful child to be around and Eddie was a replica of his dad. Both of Duke's kids treated Susan with the love and respect they would have given their real mother. Sophie fit right in with the family. _And to think that they met at_ _my house._ Maggie was smiling as she took out her phone and called her husband. "Steve, honey? Good news. Duke's out of surgery and is going to be fine..."


	8. Chapter 8

Che Fong had been working in the Five-O's crime lab for over twenty years. McGarrett had lured him away from the San Francisco PD with the promise of better pay and a bigger budget for the latest and greatest gizmo's and gadgets. Che's family had been in Hawaii for six generations and it took him all of five minutes to make the decision that brought him back to Honolulu. It was a choice he never regretted, although there were a few cases that made him wish he'd stayed in San Francisco. The one he was working on at present was rapidly becoming one of those cases.

McGarrett was talking to someone on his cell phone when he entered the office. Che had worked with McGarrett long enough not to mind. "That's great," McGarrett said. "That's the best news I've heard all day. I'll pass the word on to the rest of the team. Love you, baby."

Che couldn't help but smile. Most people thought of McGarrett as being cold and standoffish, and they weren't far from wrong, because that was how he behaved around people he didn't know, always being aloofly polite until he got to know them better or they gave him reason not to be. He was an excellent leader who instilled trust in his team members, yet always managed to keep his private life just that, private. That was until he met the little Army sergeant from Louisiana. The small non-com had mellowed McGarrett out considerably.

"Good news?" Che asked. He knew that McGarrett had been awaiting word from the hospital.

"The only good thing I've heard since about eight this morning when my honeymoon was rudely interrupted by the Coast Guard," McGarrett replied. "John Manicote and Duke are both out of surgery and expected to make a full recovery. Now all I have to do is find the shooter. What have you got?"

"Some interesting insight into the mind of 'Mother's Helper'," Che said, frowning. "I'm going to start with the letters. But, first, please tell me Jenny is at a safe house." He gave McGarrett the letter addressed to Jenny, encased in a large flat plastic envelop. "The contents of this letter are disturbing, to say the least."

"Jenny and her family are at the Ilikai with HPD protection and are going to be there until this creep is caught." He silently read the 'warrant' for Jenny's death for associating with known traitors and for the crime of having married a Jewish man and bringing three half-caste children into the world. "Find anything unique about the printer or the paper used?"

"The paper is 26 pound bright white copy paper that you can find in any office supply store or one of the big box stores. It's fairly common. Most of the business centers at the better hotels keep a supply on hand for their guests. The same goes for the coffee shops and internet cafes. The printer and the ink are from a low end HP printer. Also easy to find. Paper and ink are a dead end this time."

"He thinks Jenny should die because her husband is Jewish. Let me see the others." Che handed them over. McGarrett read the one for Chin Ho Kelly.

"He called Chin a 'Jap'," Che said, his lip curling in disgust. "Chin's family has been in Hawaii almost as long as mine has and he gets called a 'Jap'. Last I looked, Chin was Chinese."

"He's tagged Ben Kokoau as 'jumped-up pineapple' and he thinks both men have taken jobs that should be held by white men." McGarrett shook his head. "And here I was thinking he was some sort of law and order freak. Looks like he's got a whole new agenda."

Danny came in as McGarrett was reading the letter addressed to him. Same rhetoric, only this time McKenzie had him as an incompetent politically correct bleeding heart drone of the shadow government. "Interesting reading?" Danny asked.

"Only if you're a total nutjob. It's after five." he said, consulting his watch. "See if you can run down Dr. Bishop tomorrow morning. She's bound to have an opinion on this, and she was the only one at McKenzie's competency hearing who thought he needed to be in a padded room instead of a jail cell. Maybe that's why she's not on his list."

"More like he hasn't had a chance to mail hers," Danny said. "I've got an update from the warden at Ft Leonard Prison. He is not a happy man. He's... what's that noise?"

A techie came in through the back, towing an oxygen tank on squeaky wheels. The tank was covered with fingerprint dust. Che introduced the techie as Roger Opaka.

"Dr. Fong, I thought you'd want to see this right away." Opaka said. "The fingerprints are a match for one Lester Smith. The tank was rented three days ago from Oahu Medical Supplies by a man calling himself Clayton Moore. I don't think he's going to get his deposit back."

"Why's that?" McGarrett asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Because someone modified the tank, and I doubt it was for their health. The top opens. Let me show you." He unhooked the plastic tubing and unscrewed the valve on the top. It flipped open on a small hidden hinge. "I'm betting that's the rifle he used to shoot John Manicote."

McGarrett and Williams both looked into the hollow cylinder. Inside was a dismantled rifle.

"At least his weapon of choice is off the streets. I hope like hell he doesn't have another one stashed somewhere. Che, do your stuff. Danno, didn't you say you had a report from the warden in Montana?"

"Yeah, and it reads like the Count of Monte Cristo, where the hero befriends a dying prisoner who just happens to be loaded. Only in this case, the dying prisoner was the head of the Knights of the White Camellia named Jeffery Warren and he was McKenzie's cell mate. He died this morning. Of pancreatic cancer. Somehow McKenzie managed to pull off the bait and switch of the century, and he had to have had some inside help to do it. Ft Leonard prison is in the middle of a pilot program where all the inmates wear bar coded wristbands, not unlike the ones the hospitals use. McKenzie and Warren switched the numbers on their bracelets. After Warren died, the warden finally got around to searching their cell. He found the duplicate bracelets. Warren would go to the prison infirmary, they'd scan his bracelet, and it would pop up with Smith's name. The Marshall's and the FBI have an arrest warrant out for the ward clerk responsible for the scanning, one Thomas Wycliffe. He didn't show up for his shift after the Christmas holidays and no one's heard from him since. I have a feeling they're not going to find his body until the spring thaw."

"Are you telling me they traded identities?" McGarrett said, scowling. "McKenzie was a high school drop out. He's barely literate, how did he manage to pull off something like this."

"McKenzie may have been uneducated, but Warren wasn't." Danny said, consulting his notes. "He had an IQ of 140 and degrees in computer science and chemical engineering from Cal Poly. No one's sure how he got tangled up with the White Camellia's, but he ended up in federal prison by putting his computer and engineering skills to work making bombs for any militia or paramilitary group that had the money to pay his fees. There's also speculation that he was running a marijuana grow operation, but there wasn't enough evidence to prosecute for that, which wasn't a priority. One of his bombs blew up a shopping mall in Sioux Falls and killed four people, including a ten year old girl. He had life with no possibility of parole. And he was married to one Elizabeth Smith, also known as Betty Warren, who just happens to be Cord McKenzie's sister and the adopted mother of one Stephen Austin Smith. The poor kid never stood a chance. Junior didn't even know his dad was locked up until after his adopted mother died from stomach cancer five years ago. According to the warden's report, he didn't know his biological father was sharing a cell with his adopted dad."

"No wonder the kid turned into a poster boy for the neo-nazi's," McGarrett said, once again wondering how fate decided who would have children.

"What all this means is that McKenzie doesn't have cancer but managed to pull a fast one on the federal prison system." Danny continued. "McKenzie went on a crash diet, lost forty pounds and did one hell of an acting job to get the parole board to agree to compassionate release because they thought he was dying. He broke out of the nursing home before the routine medical testing they did on admission came back with no signs of cancer. Now he's out and he's got some new friends and a family pedigree that gives him instant status with every white supremacist and paramilitary group here in Hawaii. Mendoza is running down hate groups even as we speak. Says she'll have them for us around eight, and to remind you she's on overtime and that she was suppose to be going to dinner with her girlfriend tonight."

There was a soft cough from Che. McGarrett and Williams looked up to see he had the rifle reassembled. "Just what I thought," Che said. "It's a Winchester 44/40 lever action. It's touted as the gun that won the west after it was issued to the Army. It's rumored that the Winchester was also one of the weapons carried by Wyatt Earp and Doc Holiday during the Tombstone Vendetta Ride. The weapon has a long history of use by the military and law enforcement."

"This is one that's not going to be used again by anyone if I have my way," McGarrett said. "Run the ballistics for me Che. I want them yesterday. Looks like we're all going to be on overtime tonight."

"If it gets McKenzie off the street, it'll be worth it," Che said. "We're still going over the car. McKenzie bought the car from a lot on Molokai Street. According to the owner of the car lot, he paid cash. The temporary title was in the glove compartment. It's registered to a Mr. James West, address 1255 Kuala Street in Pearl City."

"You can just about bet all we're going to find there is an empty lot. Looks like our man's on foot, since we have his car. That means he's going to have to either buy or steal another one. Danno, alert HPD and have them route all stolen vehicle reports through Five-O. Who knows, we may get lucky." McGarrett stretched trying to ease the tension in his shoulders. Running down stolen cars was not what he had planned for the evening.

"I ran the plates that were on the car," Che said. "They were stolen from a car parked at the Hawaiian Multicultural Museum. The plate belongs on a '91 BMW registered to Dr. Carla Lu, one of the curators there. I found that rather odd, considering what our suspect thinks of minorities."

"He probably thought he was being funny, hunting down minorities with a license plate that belongs to a minority. Instead of looking for a white man, we'd be looking for an Asian female." Danno shrugged, wondering just how long McKenzie thought that would work.

"Thanks, Che," McGarrett said. "Let me know if you find anything interesting. Danno, head for the computer lab, see if Mendoza has found anything interesting. Tomorrow we start pounding the pavement and knocking on doors. We're probably going to need backup from HPD. I have a feeling we're going to have a lot of ground to cover."

"On it," Danny said. "I'll meet you back at Iolani."

After Danny had left, McGarrett continued to look at the letters. He kept going back to the one that had been intended for Jenny. Jenny, his petite little secretary who kept them all on time and on schedule, made a damned good pot of coffee, and was a honorary member of the Rose Warriors. _I suspect McKenzie's head would explode if he ever met the Thompson Twins, especially when he found out that Ivory was engaged to a white police officer and Ebony was a Caucasian Lesbian dating a Filipina._ He asked Che to email copies of the letters to his office. As he got into his car for the drive back to Iolani he made a quick mental calculation about how much time they were wasting driving from the Palace to the morgue and to the forensics lab. Maybe it was time for Five-O to get their own building.

O-O-O-O-O

Duke awoke to a soft cool hand caressing his cheek. He opened his eyes, still groggy from the anesthesia and everything out of focus without his glasses. He could just make out the features of the three people clustered around the bed;Susan, Lillie, and Eddie, his family, his _ohana._

"About time you woke up," Susan said, smiling down at him. "You gave me such a fright."

"I didn't mean to," he said. "I think my new vest has been ruined."

"Duke, the last thing I am worried about right now is a ruined vest. Vests can be replaced. You, I can't replace."

"Nor do we want to," said Lillie. "We kind of like having you around."

"Yeah," said Eddie, "I'd have to find a new surf partner and you still need to teach our little brother how to surf."

"My _ohana_ ," he said. "I've got the best family in the world." He tried to take a deep breath, only it hurt like hell. "What's with all the tubes?"

"They're to help you breath while you are healing," Susan said. "The docs are saying you are going to be fine, but you have to rest and take the time to heal."

"Yeah," said Eddie, "And he said no surfing for at least a month."

"The little one?" he asked, wishing he had his glasses because he couldn't see Susan clearly without them.

"He's fine," Susan said. "He settled down for a nap about an hour ago."

"I'm going to make her go home and lie down when the nurses run us out of here," Lillie said.

"I'm going to stay with you tonight," Eddie said. "Mom will be back first thing in the morning."

"Maggie is going to stay with us tonight," Susan said. "You know Steve isn't going home until he has this thing solved, and with me out of the office she's the acting first sergeant. I'm on emergency leave until you get better."

"I'm sorry, baby, this isn't the ideal way to begin a marriage." he said.

"Duke," Susan said, "There is no right or wrong way to start a marriage or anything else. We're just getting all the bad stuff out of the way first. Right, kids?"

Lillie and Eddie nodded in agreement. HPD officers had picked them up at school that morning, frightening them badly.

One of the nurses poked her head in the door and told them their time was up and it was time for the patient to get some more sleep. All three of them kissed Duke before they left. When she got to the door, Susan turned back to face him. "I love you, Duke. Now you get better."

He nodded and tried to smile as the sedative the nurse had injected into his IV lines took hold.

He dreamed of sunshine and waves, of a tall woman and a little boy with blonde curls and eyes that looked like melted chocolate.


	9. Chapter 9

He needed wheels.

He hated riding the bus with all those mud people. People who were brown and black and yellow. The Asians were the ones he understood least of all. They should be in Chinatown, not in every quadrant of the city. Most of the black ones, he knew, were military and knew their place. It was the brown ones that were giving him the most trouble. Suddenly the native Hawaiians were thinking they had more right to the Islands than the white people who had built the roads and airports and bridges and skyscrapers. If the Islanders had their way, they'd be living in thatch roofed houses and running around naked. No, he didn't want to see Hawaii back in the hands of the heathens. When he was done all those sovereignty types would be back cutting cane and growing pineapples the way god intended for them to do.

He got off the bus at the stop before Iolani Palace. He walked across the lawn, watching the windows that faced the street. Yep, they were still in. In fact it looked like they had never left. The lights were on at the Five-O offices, even with the doors to the lanai and the blinds closed, the could sense the enemy. Those traitor cops who locked him away for doing what had to be done.

His son was dead. Chanel 9 news had confirmed it. His son had been shot down by a mongrel Hawaiian cop. His boy had managed to crank off a few rounds, and had shot the cop twice in the chest. It should have been the cop dead, not his son, but the cop was wearing a vest and all he had was a couple of broken ribs from the close range impact of the hollow point rounds.

As he waited, watching, he took out the 'burner' phone provided by his new friends. He hit the speed dial, listening to it ring, and then heard the gruff voice on the other end: "McGarrett."

"Answering your own phone these days?" McKenzie said. "Got your tape recorder going?"

McGarrett hit the record button on his desk and motioned for Danny to start a trace.

"You know I do, McKenzie. Why don't you make things easier for everyone concerned and turn yourself in?"

"Nah, think I'll let you chase me for a while. Where's your secretary this morning?"

"Somewhere you can't get to her. Your son's dead, McKenzie, don't make this harder than it has to be."

"Stevie boy, you made that decision for me when you turned traitor on me. I can't trust you. You or anyone else. You're all part of the shadow government. But not for long. We're going to take back these Islands. Make them into the paradise it was meant to be. And don't bother trying to trace this call. I'm hanging up." He snapped the phone shut.

"Anything, Danno?" Steve asked.

"All I can tell you is he was on a cell phone. Anything show on caller ID?"

"Not a thing," McGarrett said. "Let's see, he's sent the letters, now he's making the phone calls. If he uses his old pattern, it'll be kidnapping next.

"Hopefully it won't get that far," Danny said, stifling a yawn. It'd been a long night. He'd gone home around two to crash for a few hours. It was apparent that McGarrett had slept on the office sofa. _He's suppose to be on his honeymoon and we're out chasing a lunatic instead. I wouldn't want to be the first person to piss him off today._

* * *

O-O-O-O-O

McKenzie was still gloating when he decided to really tweak McGarrett's nose by stealing a car from the parking lot at Iolani Palace. He'd love to snag one of those big Ford's or Mercury's belonging to Five-O, only he suspected those were alarmed to the gills. He'd just wait in the shadows until the right employee came along, preferably a female, then he'd demand her keys and be home free.

* * *

O-O-O-O-O

Maggie had dropped by Moholo's to pick up breakfast for the detectives. She was dressed in her class A skirt uniform and would sign back in from leave at nine that morning. She was still on light duty, and would remain so until her retirement date in October, unless she decided to apply for a medical discharge. _Heaven's knows I'm qualified for medical retirement_ , she thought. These days her back hurt almost constantly and she still walked with a slight limp that hours of physical therapy hadn't been able to correct. She was still too thin and still tired easily. She suspected the only reason Steve hadn't said anything was because he was waiting for her to broach the subject herself. She knew he'd be overjoyed if she retired early.

She parked the little Mustang next to Steve's car, grabbed the carry bags off the back seat, and tried to run up the steps of the Palace, the pain in her back causing her to slow down about half way up. _This_ _damned place has too many stairs,_ she thought as she climbed the final flight of steps to the Five-O offices.

"Good morning, everyone!" she said as she went into the outer office. "I brought breakfast."

"You didn't have to do this, baby," Steve said, crossing the room to embrace his wife.

"If I didn't, it'd be coffee and doughnuts and where's the nutrition in that? Without Jenny here to remind you to eat properly, you'd all die from malnutrition. And you, Big Guy, don't forget the blood pressure medicine."

"Already done," he said. He hated the idea of being dependent on any type of medication, but his blood pressure refused to stay down without the pills.

"I've got to go," she said. "I have to sign in by nine. Love you."

She turned to leave the office, a small figure in Army green.

"She needs to put on some weight," Chin said. "The doctor's said that limp is permanent?"

"Yes on both counts," Steve said. "But she's doing better. She didn't have any nightmares while we were out sailing."

Chin nodded as he handed out plastic forks and napkins. "She's one strong lady."

"Don't I know it," Steve said digging into his omelet.

Breakfast was interrupted by a loud stream of obscenities and the roar of a big Ford engine pulling too much torque for the gear it was in. Danny, Steve, and Chin raced down the steps to find Maggie standing at the foot of the stairs, face red with anger, using every colorful metaphor she'd learned in her military career. Chin, looked on, shocked. He didn't know women knew those words.

"Maggie, what the hell is wrong?" Steve asked as he ran down the steps.

"He stole my car!" she exclaimed, pointing to the empty parking slot next to Steve's Marquis. "That communist stole my car! He grabbed my keys out of my hand, pushed me and took off! He stole my damned car!"

"Maggie, sweetie," Steve said. "Slow down. Are you hurt?"

She shook her head. "No more than the usual. He grabbed my keys and stole my car!"

"Did you see who did it?" Steve asked. "Would you recognize him if you saw him again?"

"Yes, well, maybe, it happened so fast! He stole my damned Mustang! Tell HPD they have to find it before it ends up in a chop shop."

"Danno, put out a BOLO, please," Danny nodded and went upstairs to make the calls. "Calm down, sweetie. That 'Stang is going to be hard to miss. We'll find it. Are you sure he didn't hurt you?"

"He didn't hurt me, baby, just pushed me and jumped into my car and took off. I can't believe this! I mean, who would steal a car from Iolani Palace? Everyone knows this is where the cops live!"

The hair on the back of Steve's neck stood up. _No way_ , he thought, _no way in hell McKenzie is that_ _stupid._ "Maggie, you need to come upstairs and look at a mug shot. It'll only take a minute. Then I'll drive you to work. You had the top down, didn't you?" He didn't know why he even bothered to ask. If it wasn't raining, the top stayed down.

"Yes, it was. Why do I have a feeling I'm about to get a lecture about security and the importance of arming the alarm system?"

"Because the alarm system is suppose to keep you safe. Let's go look at mugshots and then I'll get you to Ft Shafter." He wrapped an arm around her waist as she leaned against him. He could tell she was in pain and would have carried her up the steps if she would have allowed it.

He settled her into one of the leather chairs that faced his desk and got the folder containing the picture sent over with the rest of the information on McKenzie. "Does he look familiar?" he asked.

Maggie gave the picture a good long look. "Could be," she said. "I'm not certain, it happened so fast. I was getting my keys out of my bag when he said 'I'll take those' and pushed me against the rail. He took off in the wrong gear. I could hear the engine screaming when he tore out of the parking lot. I'm probably going to need a new clutch by the time I get the poor thing back."

Steve gave her an incredulous look. Maggie was a lead footed speed demon who had spent more time driving on Germany's autobahns than was good for her. He had occasionally driven the little convertible and knew that everything under the 'Stang's hood was custom and designed for speed and performance. Steve was halfway hoping that the next time he saw the little hot rod it would be getting pulled out of the ocean after one of the local chop shops had gutted it. "Baby, can you at least tell me if he was tall or short? Did he have an accent? Anything that you can remember."

"He was tall, but not as tall as you are, but then everyone seems taller to me because I'm so short. I'd say he was around five ten. About Danny's size only skinny. And he had this flat western tone. Not south western, more like north western. Like from one of those cold flat states. And that's all I can remember for now." She paused a few seconds as everything clicked into place. "It's all related, isn't it? Having to come back early, and John and Duke getting shot. You think the man who did it stole my car?"

"Maybe, but I don't think you have anything to worry about. All he wanted was your car. His was impounded yesterday and he needed wheels. Why he'd steal a car as flashy as that Mustang is beyond me, unless it was because he stole it from under Five-O's nose." He put the picture back in the file folder, strapped on his gun, and put on his tie and suit jacket. "At least I get to spend a little time with my best girl." He came around the desk and helped her to her feet, pulling her into his arms as he did, "I missed you last night."

"I missed you, too. We need to get going or Colonel Dale is going to have a fit."

"I'll get the paperwork you need for the insurance company, just in case."

"Don't even think that," she said, smiling. "I really hate car shopping." She stood on tiptoes to kiss him.

* * *

O-O-O-O-O

After Steve and Maggie had left for Ft Shafter, Danny settled down with a stack of computer printouts. He arranged the printouts into separate piles, one for any hate or militia group on any of the other islands in the Hawaiian chain. He earmarked those for perusal on a later date, with possible visits to their headquarters. The second pile was for those on Oahu, and the third and probably the most promising one, was for groups within a twenty mile radius of Honolulu. Three of those he added to another file as they were made up of locals from the sovereignty movement. Five of the others rang cherries all the way across the board.

"Hey! What's up, Brudah?" came a booming voice from the outer office. "Anybody home?"

Danny looked up to see Kono followed closely by Robbie Compton. "Hey, yourself, Brudah," he said, smiling at the sight of Honolulu's recently appointed sheriff. "Are you here to give us a hand or raid the coffee pot?"

"Both," Kono said, slapping Danny on the back. "But only if Little Miss _Menehune_ didn't make the coffee." Maggie's coffee was notoriously bad. Word had gotten around.

Chin handed him a stack of printouts and got straight to the point. "Those are the names and addresses of local militia groups. You know anything about them?" McGarrett had copies of McKenzie's latest letters pinned to a cork board in his office and Chin was still annoyed at being tagged as a 'Jap'.

Kono read through the papers, handing them to Compton for perusal when he finished.

"There's only two in there that are dangerous," Kono said. "The ones that call themselves the White Knights of Oahu and the ones called the Knights of the Grand Dragon. Both think that all the black,yellow, and brown people need to go swim with the sharks. They both got a file back at the SO two foot thick. They into a lot of nefarious stuff, illegal guns, drugs, and that new shit they cooking up in they garages; methamphetamine. If your boy McKenzie is looking for buddies, I'd about bet it would be one of these, and of the two, I'd say take a close look at the Dragons first."

"If they don't like Asians," Chin asked, "then why call themselves the Grand Dragons? To me, that sound Asian."

"Chin," Danny said, "You don't know how lucky we are here on this Rock. The Knights of the Ku Klux Klan never got a foothold here. The chief of one of their klaverns is called the Grand Dragon. If these creeps are affiliated with them, that means they're also in cahoots with the Knights of the White Camellia."

"Their head man here is a biker from Lodi, California named Freddie Phelps," Kono said, "or at least Phelps is the name his prison record is under. Did ten at San Quentin for manslaughter and possession of cocaine. Been here in the Islands about four years now. Hangs out a garage in Pearl City that's a suspected chop shop, only we ain't been able to prove it yet. He hasn't had any encounters with any law enforcement since he landed, so he's either being good or being very careful. California wants him for parole violations, but they don't want to come get him and Murphy didn't think it was worth the effort to bust him. If you want to go talk to him, take backup. He don't like cops."

"I'm sure the feeling is mutual," Danny said. "How about it Chin? Feel like a drive to Pearl City?"

Chin smiled like a Cheshire cat. "I got on the vest the girls got us for Christmas. Robbie, find me six of the biggest HPD officers you can get your hands on, and make sure they're all minorities."

Compton grinned back. "I know a few Samoans that are all at least six foot six. Chief Dann told me to get you whatever you needed for the investigation. Give me an hour to get them rounded up and suited up." Robbie had just been promoted to sergeant and was taking his first tentative steps at command.

"I'll head over to the courthouse and get search and arrest warrants. I'll use the connection with the White Camellias as probable cause and the fact that Phelps is wanted for a parole violation. What should I ask for on the search warrant?"

"How about a stolen yellow mustang convertible license number MNHUNE1?" Danny said.

"You got it. Kono, you want to tag along for the ride?"

"And miss taking down that bunch of creeps? Call when you're ready. I've got a couple of big kanakas on the payroll who need an airing."

"Keep me posted," Danny said. "And don't get cocky because you're all in kevlar. It won't save you from a headshot."

Chin and Robbie left to get organized for the mornings task, leaving Danny and Kono alone.

"I can't believe that creep threatened Jenny." Kono said, as he poured himself a cup of Kona coffee and added cream and sugar. "I was out of the country last time McKenzie was in town, freezing my ocole off in Europe."

"We had Ben Kakua filling in. Good cop. The DEA snagged him about six months later. He's living in San Diego these days with a wife and four kids."

"It strange being the only bachelor left. I thought Little Miss _Menehune_ and Sergeant Y were going to take my head off throwing bouquets at me at their weddings. I think they hinting." Kono sipped his coffee. "Funny ting, I was kind a hopin' Little Miss _Menehune's_ crazy sista would be at da weddin'. It woulda been nice to see her again."

Danny grinned at him, "Were you planning on trying to sneak out of the boss's house at four in the morning again?"

"Oh, hell, no! Just wanted to see how she was doing, is all."

"Yeah, right." Danny said. "While your guys are out and about, keep an eye out for Maggie's car. She tentatively ID'd McKenzie as the car thief. I don't think he knows who's car he's stolen. Wait until he finds out who it belongs to."

"Dat is if he don't wrap it around a palm tree first," Kono said. "The engine in dat ting barely street legal as it is. Chances are he don't know what he's stolen. Let me know if you need anything else. I got to go meet with the mayor in about fifteen minutes. If I ever get the mess Murphy left cleaned up, I'm going on vacation. Later, Brudah." Kono left, whistling as he did. He'd been appointed sheriff after Murphy had 'resigned' from office, a euphemism for 'turned state's evidence'. Murphy, an actor turned politician, had gotten in way over his head when it came to both religion and politics. He was currently sweating it out at a secluded beach house on Maui, attended by a contingent of federal marshals and local law enforcement, working out, swimming, and calling his agent ever hour or so to find him an acting job, any acting job, as long as it wasn't in Hawaii. The humidity, he claimed, was bad for his health.

* * *

O-O-O-O-O

He pulled into the garage on Leonui Street feeling overly pleased with himself. The car he'd stolen turned out not to be a girly little knock off but a true Ford muscle car. _Must belong to that broad's husband,_ he decided. He would always remember the look of shock on the face of that woman in the meter maids uniform as he snatched the keys from her hand and jumped over the door and into the driver's seat. He would have loved to have been around when she explained to her husband what happened to his car. He parked the Mustang at the back of the place, revving the engine a few times just to feel the heavy purr of the big Ford engine.

Freddie Phelps ran the place. Phelps was six foot two and two hundred and sixty pounds of prison muscle covered in greasy riding leathers. He had long hair, thinning on the top and pulled back into a ponytail, and a ZZ Top style beard that he had braided to keep out of his way when he was working. Phelps strolled over to where McKenzie had parked the 'Stang. He had no use for McKenzie or his agenda but he really didn't care how many cops or lawyers he did in. He had orders from higher up the shady chain of command that was the Order of the Knights of the Grand Dragon. The orders were to give McKenzie any and all help that he needed, no matter what. Phelps took one look at the Mustang, his patience and hospitality wearing thin.

"Ain't she a daisy?" McKenzie asked. "Runs like a raped ape."

Phelps glanced at the liscense plate. _Yep_ , he thought.

"Where'd you get this thing?" Phelps asked.

"Stole it from the parking lot at Iolani Palace, right under McGarrett's office window. I'll bet that dumb meter maid I snatched it from is having a fit, trying to think up story to tell her husband when he finds out she's let his car get stolen."

"Meter Maid?" Phelps asked. "Have you lost your fucking mind? Did you see the stickers on the back bumper? The ones for Seventh Army, Fort Bragg, and Eighteenth Airborne Corps? There's a Ft Shafter parking sticker on the windshield, and, if you'd get your head out of your ass long enough to read the damned license plate, you'd see it was an honor plate belonging to someone with a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star."

"No way, man," Mckenzie said. "This car belongs to a meter maid. She was wearing a uniform."

"Yeah, and I'll bet it was green. You have really screwed the pooch big time, my friend. That car belongs to McGarrett's wife. She's in the freakin' Army. You know that police scanner in my office? That 'Stang is all over it. Every cop on this rock is looking for that damned car, because if they find it, it's a load of brownie points with the Five-O's Big Man. Next time steal something a little less obvious, like the governor's fuckin' limo. Now find a tarp and cover that damned thing up until I can figure out a way to get rid of it."

Phelps glared at McKenzie as he put up the top and covered the car with a tarp. "Did the merchandise I asked for come in?" McKenzie asked when he was done.

Phelps had had enough for one morning. He shoved McKenzie into the side of a beater van parked next to the Mustang. "Listen up, brudah," he said, his voice holding the promise of violence, "I don't like you, but I've got orders from higher up to get you whatever you need. Someone ponied up a crapton of cash to have us take care of you. But you bring the cops down on me, I will come down on you with both feet. _Comprende_ , brudah?"

"Yeah, yeah, I gotcha," McKenzie said. "Lighten up. There's a new day coming. Things will be back as they were intended to be. We all want the same thing."

Phelps backed down, suppressing the urge to snap McKenzie's neck. "You got until five o'clock to get the job done. You take out McGarrett and his team and then you clear out and I never want to see your ass again. Clear?"

"Yeah, clear. This whole island is going to be celebrating. You'll see. Where's my merchandise?"

Phelps went around to the back of the van and opened the doors. McKenzie's eyes lit up when he saw the contents. "The van's clean. Fake plate, fake registration, all serial numbers filed off. It's been sanitized and there are no fingerprints on the inside. It's all yours."

"Perfect." he said, smiling. "Just freaking damned beautiful."


	10. Chapter 10

Danny, Chin, and Compton were clustered around the table in McGarrett's office consulting a street map of the Pearl City area.

"Find anything interesting?" McGarrett asked.

"Don't know how interesting it's going to be, but I did find a place to start looking." Danny pointed to the location on the street map. "Our new sheriff seems to have hit the ground running. He gave us a heads up for this group called the Knights of the Grand Dragon who just happen to an offshoot of the same organization that gave rise to the Knights of the White Camellia. Their headquarters is a garage/body shop type business in Pearl City, owned by a corporation called Knight Logistics. Their CFO is listed as one Frederick Phelps. Phelps has been here about four years, and before that he was guest of the California Penal System. He's suppose to be on parole, only he never bothered to check in with his parole officer and as a result, his parole has been revoked. He's been flying under the radar since he got here."

"Good work, gentleman," he said. "Get search and arrest warrants. Let's see what we can turn up."

"Already done, Boss," Chin said. "I got an arrest warrant for Phelps and a search warrant for stolen vehicles, including one yellow Mustang convertible."

For a minute, McGarrett was quiet, his eyes changing from dark cobalt to icy blue. "Danno, what time did McKenzie's call come in this morning?"

"A little before eight, I'd say around 0755. I've got the exact time logged in when I started the trace."

"Maggie came by at just past eight. She was here maybe ten minutes, went outside and had her car stolen at the foot of the steps. She tentatively identified McKenzie as the thief from his prison mugshot." Sitting still was never one of McGarrett's strong points. He paced the room as he spoke, stopping by the closed doors to the lanai and looking out through the half closed blinds. "He was out there when he called, watching us. He had at best, fifteen minutes between hanging up the phone and stealing Maggie's car. He was out there within reach and we didn't know it."

"Want to call in a team from forensics to see if he left anything behind?" Danny asked. The thought of McKenzie being so close was disquieting.

"Anything out there has been blown away or contaminated by now. I think we need to concentrate on cutting off his supply lines. What's the plan for Mr. Phelps and crew?"

"We're coordinating with HPD and the SO for manpower," Chin said. "Mr. Phelps don't like anyone not lily white so we're putting together a team made up of the biggest Samoan and Pacific Islanders we can round up, plus a couple of Asian whiz kids from computer lab. Don't worry, Boss," Chin said after seeing the concern in McGarrett's face, "They only go in after we got the place secure. I want a look at anything Phelps has on his computers."

"What's the time frame look like?" McGarrett asked.

Compton spoke up, "Sir, I've got my team rounded up and ready. Same with the sheriff. We're ready whenever you are."

McGarrett nodded. Compton was a decorated Gulf War vet. He was still a member of the Army Reserves where he held the rank of staff sergeant. He had been promoted to HPD sergeant on the first of December and was becoming a first rate cop.

"Anything else going on I need to know about?" Steve asked.

"So far, everything look good," Chin replied. "I called the hospital this morning and John's doing so well the docs are probably going to take him off the respirator and out of ICU by the end of the day. Duke's already out and doing so good the docs are probably going to spring him in a couple of days."

"I've got Dr Bishop coming in at 0930." Danny said. "She has to be in court for a competency hearing at ten and said to tell you that you can have about ten minutes."

"Hopefully that's all I'll need," he said, pouring a cup of coffee. Someone had made a fresh pot. He took a banana nut muffin from the box that Maggie brought in that morning, noting that most of the muffins had disappeared while he was dropping Maggie off at Ft Shafter. "Robbie, you're going to be the odd man out on this one."

Robbie looked at him, confused. "How's that, sir?" he asked.

"You're going to be the only haole on the team." McGarrett said, biting into the muffin.

"Sir," Robbie said, grinning from ear to ear, "Remember when Ivory and me flew to New Orleans to meet her family? That's when I found out what it really means to be a minority and on the wrong end of prejudice. People here don't know how lucky they got it. Most of the time, everybody get along. Not in Louisiana, where it's just under the surface. Doesn't take much to set it off, either. Ivory's got this one brother who had it in for me for the first two days. Then he found out I was a Gulf War veteran and that was the end of the problem."

 _Military service,_ McGarrett thought as Compton and Chin left to brief their teams. _There's something about being in uniform that transcends race and religion. Put a couple of old soldiers or sailors together and next thing you know they're calling each other by their first names and telling war stories._

"Danno," McGarrett said, "Get me the book on Freddie Phelps. And I mean all of it, including financial's, if he has any, and that includes any bank lock boxes. What's the name of that garage he hangs out at?"

"Imperial Garage," Danny said. "Not that there's anything 'imperial' about the address. It's in the middle of a warehouse and manufacturing district."

"Maybe he was trying to raise his property values. While you're at it get the book on that place. If he's fixing cars, money is coming in. Find out how much and see if it jives with the amount of business he does."

"Money laundering?" Danny asked. "Wouldn't be the first time one of these fringe groups has used a legitimate business to clean up dirty money."

Danny headed out to the computer lab. McGarrett returned to his office and was rereading the most recent batch of 'Mother's Helper' letters when Dr. Bishop knocked softly and let herself in.

"Steve, why is it that every time we meet there's some kind of a crisis going on? Just once, why don't you try calling me up and asking me to lunch?" She said, although she was smiling when she said it. She'd been Five-O's go to shrink since the beginning.

"You've got a date, after all this is over, that is. You interviewed McKenzie after the first Mother's Helper indecent," he said. "I know Danno has filled you in on what we've got so far. Is this over or is he just getting started, and do you have any idea what his next target will be?"

"That's going to depend on a lot of different factors, Steve," she said. "At first it seemed he was fixated on frontier justice, back when there was little or no law enforcement and people sometimes had to take the law into their own hands or live in a state of anarchy. McKenzie sees himself as a hero, a knight in shining armor, if you will. He was dangerous enough then. He obviously didn't get any psychiatric help from the federal prison system and he's worse than ever."

"Meaning what, Doc? That he's delusional? We already know he's got it in for all law enforcement on this Rock and he's somehow got himself mixed up with a bunch of wannabe white supremacists."

"Meaning he's found people who are willing to listen to his ranting," she said. "They're not hard to find. All he has to do is use the right words at the right time. These groups are popping up all over the country since the debacles at Waco and Ruby Ridge. They think the government is out to get them, so they hole up in their little compounds until it becomes necessary for law enforcement to step in. You've kept these Islands relatively free of these groups, but the few that are here have one thing in common. They need something to hate. Whether it's the government, or the police, or anyone with a different color skin, they need someone or something to feel superior to. Most of members of these groups lead insignificant lives. Most are poorly educated and underemployed. These groups validate their feelings and make them think they were right all along."

"Why the Knights of the White Camellia?" Steve asked. "McKenzie didn't seem to have a problem with other races the last time he was here. What changed?"

Dr. Bishop slowly shook her head. "There's no telling. Maybe he always felt this way and still managed to get on with his life until he became Mother's Helper. You will note that both his victims were considered minorities. However, I'm inclined to believe that he's using the groups as a means to an end."

"Any idea what that's going to be?" Steve asked, hopefully.

"Steve, he has a fixation on seeing justice done. Unfortunately, it's a bent and twisted form of justice. He believes that the police and judicial system is corrupt or controlled by the 'shadow government' that secretly controls the courts. And he's not alone. After Ruby Ridge and Waco, these groups started turning up everywhere, in places where no one was expecting them, from small towns to large cities and every place in between. The only thing that's keeping many of these groups from started an armed insurrection is lack of funding."

"Exactly what can we expect out of McKenzie when we do catch him?" Steve asked.

"He'll either come along peacefully or else he's going to try to go out in a blaze of glory and take as many of the enemy out as he can in the process. The bombing in Oklahoma City was allegedly in retaliation for the fire that killed David Koresh and his followers. If he's of the same mindset, and I see no evidence that he isn't, I'd say something spectacular and deadly. You need to find McKenzie, and find him fast." She glanced down at her watch. "I've got to go. I've got a court hearing in twenty minutes. Call me when you catch him."

"Thanks, Doc," Steve said. He went to his desk and picking up the phone, called Chief Dann. After a brief conversation, the Chief agreed to put a surveillance team on Doctor Bishop, just in case.

* * *

O-O-O-O-O

Freddie Phelps' day was going to hell in a handbasket. It had started going wrong the minute that total nitwit Cord McKenzie had parked the stolen Mustang in his garage. _I shoulda tossed his sorry ass down a volcano_ _and swear he never made it to Honolulu_ , he thought, hindsight being 20/20 and all that. He sat at his desk in his small crowded office that smelled of gasoline, grease, and unwashed biker, while the grinning gook with a search warrant read him his rights. _When my lawyer springs me_ , he fumed, _I am_ _going to personally hunt McKenzie down and tear his goddamned head off._ McKenzie and his blue beater van had rolled out of the garage about five minutes before the cops showed up.

"Do you give up the right to remain silent?" The gook asked. They'd sent a smart one this time, not one of those little punks from HPD or one of the pretty boy deputies left over from the days when Sheriff Murphy hired because they looked good in uniform. He could make one of those widdle his trousers by simply glaring at them. No, this time they'd sent in one of the big guns from Five-O as well as the new county sheriff who hired deputies for ability, not appearance, and possibly per pound, if the four men he'd brought with him were an example. He was confident that he could have taken both the chink and sheriff pineapple out, only they had been smart enough to show up with ten of the biggest human beings he'd ever seen as backup.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, "Heard it all before. What's the beef, brudah?"

"The beef is you running a chop shop for starters. You got papers for the cars you got in here?" Chin asked.

"How would I know?" Phelps said innocently. "I just fix cars. I don't own the place and I don't do the paperwork."

"No, you don't," Chin said. "The place is owned by a shell corporation registered in Nevada but your name is on it as CEO."

"It is?" Phelps said, sounding shocked. "There must be some kind of a mistake. Must be some other Frederick Phelps. Not an uncommon name."

"Yeah, another Frederick Phelps, like the one California want for parole violations," Chin nodded to the officers on either side of Phelps. They were a pair of Samoan officers, cousins, standing at least six foot six and weighing in at around two-fifty each. "Cuff him, please. I'm not in a trusting mood this morning."

Kono and the four deputies he'd brought along for the ride were strolling through the shop, checking the serial numbers on cars with the hot sheets. His deputies already had both the mechanics cuffed and sitting on the ground.

"Either of you want to make my day by aiding the police with their inquiries?" Kono asked.

One of the mechanics glared at Kono, the other spat a stream of tobacco juice that barely missed his shoe. "I'll take that as a no." he said, ambling off toward the back of the building, leaving a deputy to guard the two miscreants.

Compton met him near the roll up door, opened to let in light and air. "What's under that tarp?" Kono asked.

"Don't know," Compton said, "But if I was a gambling man, I'd lay odds on it being a yellow Mustang convertible." He gave the tarp a yank.

"Damn, boy," Kono said, "Remind me never to play poker with you. Little Miss _Menehune_ going to be happy to get her car back."

He went back to the office where Chin had sequestered Phelps.

"Guess what we found," he said, grinning.

"Would that be a stolen Mustang convertible, license number MNHUNE1?" Chin asked.

"The one and the same. Looks like Mr. Phelps and his crew are going downtown. Call Che and tell him to send a lab crew down here. We're going to go over this place with a tooth comb and see what else we can find." Kono said, hoping to clear up a backlog of stolen vehicle files.

"Okay, Phelps," Chin said. "Time to go see the Big Man."

* * *

O-O-O-O-O

McGarrett glared at the man sitting on one of the white leather chairs facing his desk, hoping that the oil and grease on the man's jeans wasn't rubbing off onto the upholstery.

"Mr. Phelps," he said. "I've read you file. Four tours of duty in Vietnam as an Army Ranger. Silver Star, Army Commendation medal, and three Purple Hearts, honorable discharge, no disciplinary actions anywhere in your record and over a dozen letters of commendation. Then you leave the Army and end up doing ten years at San Quentin for manslaughter and possession of cocaine. What happened?"

"Whadda you mean, what happened?" Phelps said, glaring back at McGarrett. "Shit happens, is all."

"Your record says that the man you killed was a suspected serial rapists. He'd climbed through the bedroom window of your girlfriend's thirteen year old daughter. You beat the man to death with your bare hands after you heard the girl screaming. You plead 'no contest' to involuntary manslaughter and were sentenced to twenty-five years in prison. Your prison record reads like a how to manual for good behavior. You were paroled after ten years and disappeared until you turned up here."

Phelps sat there, glaring back at McGarrett. The boss hog was on a roll. Next thing he'd be asking was why he got mixed up with the Dragons.

"Nowhere, in your record," McGarrett continued, "Does it mention any affiliation with militias or hate groups, and that includes prison gangs. Why the Dragons?"

Phelps ignored the question. He'd about bet that the next thing super pig was going to ask was how he knew McKenzie.

"How long have you been an associate of Cord McKenzie?"

Phelps wanted a cigarette, but the pigs had confiscated them at booking. "Never heard of him," he growled.

"We know that McKenzie stole a yellow Mustang convertible this morning. The same Mustang that was found in your garage. Want to try answering that question again?"

"I ain't saying nothin' without my lawyer. You dig, pig?"

"No use wasting any more of my time." McGarrett nodded to the HPD officers who were standing on either side of Phelps. "Take him back to a holding cell until he's ready to talk."

"When do I see my lawyer?" Phelps demanded.

"Probably after lunch, until then, there's a nice comfortable holding cell on the ground floor. Enjoy your stay here at Iolani. Someone will let you know when your lawyer gets here."

For a few seconds, Phelps dropped the surly biker persona and looked absolutely terrified. "You tell that smarmy little prick he'd better hurry up, I want to be out of here by this afternoon."

McGarrett raised an eyebrow. "Do you have another engagement? You may want to cancel."

 _Now what did he mean by that?_ McGarrett thought as Phelps was being led away. He checked his watch. Almost noon. He was going to spend lunch hour at the hospital checking on John and Duke; seeing if their families needed anything. But first he was going to call his wife and tell her they'd found her car. _My wife, my little Menehune_. He liked calling her that. Somehow it sounded right.

O-O-O-O-O

Susan was sitting in a chair next to Duke's hospital bed, holding his hand and dozing. She hadn't slept well the night before. She had lay awake in the dark, her brain refusing to shut down and let her get some sleep. Her thoughts kept racing, _I've got over twenty three years in, by the time I have this baby it'll be twenty-four. I missed so much of Sophie's childhood because of the damned Army, but there wasn't much I could do after_ _the divorce._ She had to give Andreus credit. He had been extremely generous with child support and with his time. His job took him all over the world, or at least the parts of it where trouble was brewing. Susan never asked and he never volunteered information. He was a great dad, and a lousy husband. They had married before he had gone to Officer's Candidate School, when he was a Staff Sergeant and she was lowly E-4. She had considered getting out of the Army when she got pregnant, only something in the back of her mind said to wait and see how things would work out. Only things hadn't and they had divorced when Sophie was ten. She'd stayed in because there wasn't another photographers gig to be found with the same pay and benefits that the Army offered.

A week after she had moved in with Duke, he'd presented her with a beautiful engagement ring set with three diamonds, a one carat center stone with two half carat stones on each side. She had fussed a bit about it being too expensive. That was when Duke told her money wasn't a problem. There had been a time, he said, when it had been. Back when he and Kalani had first married, when they'd had two small children and a mortgage payment and he was taking every extra shift he could get from HPD. His niece, Gladys, his deceased sister's only child, had gotten pregnant out of wedlock. His parents, being ultra religious and very conservative, had disowned the girl. She had appeared on their doorstep at four in the morning, having nowhere else to go. Kalani had taken her in, fed her, and put her to bed on the living room sofa. When he got home that morning, they had a long talk, and decided that family was family and they had to help the girl. One of Kalani's cousins on the Big Island agreed to take the her until after the baby came. Duke and Kalani took out a second mortgage on their house and set the girl up in a small shop that made Aloha shirts and mumu's for the tourist trade. A few years earlier, with the advent of the internet and destination weddings and thanks to the man she'd eventually married, the business took off through the stratosphere. She had changed her name to Kalakeke, the Hawaiian translation for Gladys, employed a dozen seamstresses, and every quarter, sent Duke a check for twenty percent of the profits. For the last five years, the amount had been substanial.

Duke had officially retired from HPD to join the Five-O team, meaning he was drawing a pension from HPD as well as getting a pay increase from the state. The house was paid for and the only major expense was Lillie's tuition at Punaho. In other words, he told her, you can retire. She told him she would have to think about it. He'd nodded thoughtfully and told her not to take too long

Three weeks later, the rabbit died. Susan was in shock. The last thing she had ever expected was to get pregnant at 43. On the day of her wedding, Duke had asked her about retirement once more. This time she didn't need to think about it. She would retire in two years.

She awoke at the sound of a soft knock at the door. "It's open," she said.

Steve came in. "You know, Duke, if you had wanted to extend your honeymoon all you had to do was ask." he said.

"Colonel Dale said the same thing earlier," Duke said. He had been sitting up in bed, watching Susan sleep as he held her hand.

"The doctors think he can go home day after tomorrow," Susan said.

Susan was wearing a pair of cotton leggings and what looked like one of Duke's Aloha shirts. Her baby bump was becoming more apparent by the day. Most of her clothes were getting too tight and as soon as Duke was out of the hospital, she was going shopping for maternity clothes.

"Has the Shooting Team been in to talk to you?" McGarrett asked.

"Not yet," Duke said. "They'll probably be here this afternoon."

"Che pulled the tape from the security camera. I took a look at it last night. It's a righteous shoot."

"He was just a kid," Duke said. "I told him to drop the gun and he opened fire. Did you get a positive ID on him?"

"Yes," McGarrett said, looking over at Susan and seeing the frown lines creasing her forehead. "I'll fill you in on what's been happening after you get out of here."

Susan was looking from Steve to Duke. There were two HPD officers standing guard outside the door and she didn't think they were there to keep the Jehovah's Witnesses at bay. "You mean when I'm not around to ask questions. One of these days the pair of you are going to realize that being evasive is only going to piss me off." she said.

McGarrett shook his head. Susan was about to shift into reporter mode. _We both married reporters,_ he thought, _our lives are never going to be the same, especially Duke's._ Duke would be fifty on his next birthday, and a new dad. McGarrett bent and kissed Susan on the cheek. "Take care of your husband and let me worry about everything else," he said. "I'm going to go check on John and Sharon. Duke, you take it easy and let your wife take care of you."

Steve left, still smiling.

"You heard the man," Susan said. "Let me take care of you for a change. Someone needs to."

"Only if you promise not to overdo things. How's the little one doing today?"

"Making me really fat," she said, "Earlier today he was doing handsprings off my bladder. I think we've got a little surfer in there."

"Have you thought about baby names?" he asked.

"He can't be a junior because Eddie's got that covered. I know this is going to sound soppy and sentimental, but, well, I'd like to name him Michael after Maggie's first husband. He was a good friend and a decent human being."

"I think that's a very good idea," he said. "One down. How about for a middle name."

"You can think of something Hawaiian, and it doesn't matter if Michael is a first or middle name as long as it's in there."

"How does Steven Michael Lukela sound to you."

"More Irish than Hawaiian. Steven Michael. I like that. Steven Michael it is."

"I think Maggie will like that," Duke said.

Susan went to stand by her husbands bedside, gently brushing the hair back from his face. "Me too. You need a shave," she said, running her finger down his cheek.

"I love you, my Kukana."

"I love you, too, and don't you ever get shot again!"


	11. Chapter 11

O-O-O-O-O

He hummed as he worked, a sprightly little tune of his own invention. He wanted to turn on the radio and tune into one of the local talk stations to get an idea how the thinking people on this Island thought, but there was the danger of an accidental electronic spark during assembly and that simply would not do, so he hummed instead of listening. He had his favorites from the syndicated shows. The ones on during the day kept the world informed about politics, but it was the ones on late at night that knew what was really going on. The ones like Alex Jones and David Icke. The ones the government kept trying to shut up. But they knew about the shadow government and were trying to stop it. He had heard about the Reptilians on one of those long nights in lock up and how they infested the halls of congress and the senate. He had listened and he'd learned about the plots of the Illuminati and the Bilderberg Group, plots that involved concentration camps and black helicopters. He had been lucky. He was sent to Ft Leonard federal prison with a bunch of other lifers. The warden had sense enough to know that to keep the peace he had to allow the inmates a certain amount of leeway, therefore he allowed them to have small TV's and radio's in their cells as a reward for good behavior, and generally it worked. There were rules, lights out was promptly at ten but if you had headphones, you were allowed to listen to the radio as long as you wanted.

He paused briefly in his task to straighten up and stretch the kinks out of his back. He was convinced the prison officials were putting things in the food and water that was slowly killing the prisoners, shortening their lives and saving hundreds of thousands of taxpayer dollars. He knew the water was heavily fluoridated, a shadow government ploy to keep the doctors and hospitals banking money off the misery of the average citizen.

He knew that the possibility of surviving the next few hours was iffy at best. He wanted to be far enough away from Iolani Palace to be safe, yet close enough to view the carnage and to gloat when they started pulling what was left of Five-O out of the ruble. He wondered how long it would take for the coroner to identify his old friends and colleagues.

His encounter with Phelps had frightened him more than he would admit. Phelps was an unknown, a thread in a loosely connected network of survivalists, conspiracy theorists, militias, and separatists groups that were scattered around the country. He had been told to go to the garage in Pearl City. There he would receive any assistance he needed. He had done his part. Everything was ready and for all he cared, Phelps could go piss up a rope. How the hell was he suppose to have known that yellow Mustang belonged to McGarrett's wife when he didn't even know that McGarrett had gotten married? It wasn't as if he had been on the guest list. He'd seen the pictures on the cover of the copy of Honolulu Magazine that he found on the floor of the van, a greasy footprint distorting McGarrett's face. McGarrett had married a women who just happened to be a career soldier. They had been married at sunrise on the beach on McGarrett's birthday. To bad he wasn't going to live long enough to celebrate his first anniversary. The article also contained pictures of another cop wedding, this one taking place at a small chapel on the Big Island. Edward "Duke" Lukela had also married a career soldier. The same Lukela who had gunned down his son. After he did McGarrett and his crew in, he was going to take advantage of the confusion of mass casualties descending on Queens hospital to pay a visit to Detective Sergeant Lukela.

It was pity that those two recently married women would soon be newly made widows. Maybe when things settled down he'd pay them a condolence call. He'd show them what a real man was.

He went back to mixing the chemicals, so much diesel fuel to so much fertilizer. The bomb wouldn't be as big as the one that took down the Murrah Building in Oklahoma City, but then, it didn't have to be. His target was smaller and made of coral bricks and koa wood. The natives were going to pissed when they saw their landmark blown to smithereens. The damned thing should have been torn down years ago. It was a monument to a dead culture and an indication that given the least bit of encouragement, the damned fools would bring back royalty and appoint a new king and queen. But not on his watch.

He carefully poured the diesel mixture into the last 55 gallon steel drum, being careful not to disturb the claymore mines placed at the bottom and held in place with duct tape. He was going to use the mines as a detonator, and as an added bonus the ball bearings packed into the C4 would shred anything left standing. The mines were all armed and wired together in series. They only needed one little spark to set them all off and the detonator would be in his hand. It was going to a spectacular explosion.

* * *

O-O-O-O-O

Pacita Mendoza was sitting at Phelps' desk, watching the firewalls fall. She hadn't met a system she couldn't hack, and the one she was currently hacking was easier than most. Phelps had used a combination of his birth date and hometown as a password. Easy enough if you knew what you were doing. That got her inside his computer. She was hoping his email passwords were going to be just as easy, because the smell of grease, oil, and body odor was starting to give her a headache.

 _Yep_ , she thought, _easy, peasy, and I'm in like Flynn._ She accessed the incoming mail, hit the print all button, and watched as the printer spat out page after page of Phelps' private correspondence.

As the email was printing she went back to the desktop to see if he kept his books on a spreadsheet or if he used a program she would have to break into. A few keystrokes and there it was. She went to the tab marked current invoices and hit the print all button.

Chin Ho Kelly came in, bringing her a cup of tea. "You still at it?" he asked. He hadn't known the petite Filipina was a Lesbian until she started dating Ebony Thompson. Chin was a devout Catholic and a regular churchgoer. He'd thought about the two girls, well, women, only they were the same age as his oldest daughter and he automatically refered to any unmarried woman under thirty as a girl, and decided that it was obvious that they were crazy about each other and that was good enough for him. Love was love, no matter what form it came in.

"I'm going to be here for a while. Want to grab the papers off the printer? It's invoices and email."

Chin picked up the papers. He read the top invoice, a chill running down his spine as he did. It was the record of where the Imperial Garage had paid Oahu Farm Supply for a thousand pounds of ammonium nitrate, six empty steel drums, and two fifty-five gallon drums of farm diesel, cash on delivery. The delivery date was the previous day.

"We got troubles," he said to no one in particular.

"What's that, Mr. Kelly?"

"Is Che still here?" he asked.

"He's over in the back. I think he found a room full of parts from stolen cars." Pacita didn't look up from her work, but continued her search of Phelps' computer. "Oh, great, I found his porn folder," she muttered to herself, thankful for the surgical gloves she was wearing. The keyboard was a cheap knockoff and the keys were grease stained, or at least she was hoping it was grease. Chin was already out the door, once again leaving her alone with the ghost of unwashed biker and petrochemicals.

"Che," he called, "Where you at?"

Che stuck his head out the room that had been carefully concealed behind a false wall.

"Over here," Che said, "What's up?"

"You find any ammonium nitrate or diesel fuel in that room?" Chin asked, hoping that it was hidden under a tarp.

"No, why's that?" Che asked.

Chin handed him the invoice. Che blanched as he read it.

"This is the same stuff they used to blow up that building in Oklahoma City. We've been through the rest of this building, this is the last place we're searching. There's no fertilizer or diesel fuel here."

"Okay," Chin said, "Look for residue. I'm going back to the office. Call me if you find anything."

* * *

O-O-O-O-O

McGarrett got back to his office to find Chin Ho and Kono waiting. Chin was nervously pacing the room, something he only did if he was agitated. Kono was looking more serious than Steve had ever seen him.

"What's up? To quote my wife, y'all look as nervous as a sack of cats in a thunderstorm" he said, frowning.

"Trouble," Chin said. "That little whiz kid from the computer lab hit pay dirt. Phelps recently purchased a thousand pounds of ammonium nitrate, six steel drums, and two barrels of farm diesel. Enough to build a bomb big enough to level the capitol building."

"To make things even worse," Kono said. "it ain't in the garage. We looked. Everywhere."

"Dr. Bishop told me McKenzie's next move was going to be spectacular and deadly," Steve said. "We got the how, now all we have to do is find out where. Where's Phelps?"

"Danny went to get him. You think he know what McKenzie's up to?"

"This morning when I told Phelps he would have to wait until after lunch to see his lawyer I thought he was going to faint. I have a feeling he knows what the target is."

"Yeah," Chin said. "Us."

* * *

O-O-O-O-O

He was done. All the drums were packed, wired, and sealed. He started piling the empty fertilizer bags and wooden crates under one of the overhanging palm trees. He didn't consider what he was doing littering. In fact, he was sure that when he was done the powers that be would make this area into a monument, complete with a historical marker, possibly one with his face done in profile in bas relief. He wished his family could have been there to help celebrate, but his sister was dead from stomach cancer and his brother in law was dead from pancreatic cancer, and his son had be murdered by the police. He was certain that both cancer deaths had been induced by the government. Warren had told him that if they had computer access he could have shown him the web sites that tracked government induced cancers in certain members of the population as a way of both control and punishment, and as a way of silencing it's critics. He had known it was only a matter of time before the government decided to shut him up with a fatal disease.

He would have wanted his son to share the spotlight with him. Except his son had been gunned down by that mongrel cop, one of the mud people who should have been out cutting sugar cane or picking pineapples instead of carrying a gun and a badge. Lukela hadn't been with Five-O the first time he'd tried his brand of justice. Maybe McGarrett had been forced to hire more natives in some affirmative action move. When this was over, when everything was back the way it should be and natural order had been restored, he'd see to it that the new police force was made up of the right kind of men. Too bad McGarrett's office was ground zero for the bomb. He would have liked to have claimed McGarrett's koa wood desk for himself.

He off loaded the empty fuel drums, using them as paperweights to keep the empty fertilizer bags from blowing around. He was artistically re-arranging the empty crates and leftover spools of wire in a more pleasing fashion. If he didn't live through the blast, the area would soon become a shrine, and he wanted it to look nice, almost altar-like. The drums and empty crates would be perfect for holding the flowers and candles.

"Yo, Brudah!" came a voice from behind him. He had been so intent on building his altar he hadn't heard the police car roll up. "You got an explanation for this mess? Cause if you do I want to hear it. And I need to see some ID."

 _Keep calm,_ he told himself. _It's just some dumb kanaka._ "You know," he said, taking a stick of gum out of his shirt pocket, unwrapping it, and shoving it in his mouth, "I saw this bunch of beach bums unloading all this trash from the back of an old pick-up. Just dumped it and left. I was checking to see if there was any scrap metal worth recycling in here. Those drums ought to be worth a few bucks."

"I still need to see some ID." Sgt Keoke Aliki had been with HPD for fifteen years. He had street smarts and the type of intuition developed when you know the person you are speaking to is lying through their teeth.

"Certainly, officer," McKenzie said. "It's in my wallet, in my back pocket. Is it okay if I reach back to get it?" He was already reaching behind his back.

"Take it out slowly," Aliki said. "Then bring it here. Get your wallet and keep both hands where I can see them when you're done. You got that?"

McKenzie kept talking as he slowly reached back to where the .357 snub nose revolver was nestled against the small of his back. "I suspect I can get a couple of dollars for those drums, and I can make the crates into junk to sell to the tourists. Damn fool white people will buy anything they think is Island made, and most of the crap they buy is made in China." He had it, then, he felt the weight of the pistol grip in his hand. He was still smiling as he pumped four 110 grain jacketed hollow points into the cop. Aliki went down, two of the shots hitting him in the chest, one in right arm, and one in his left thigh that perforated the femoral artery. McKenzie wasn't taking any chances. For all he knew, the cop had on one of those vests. He calmly walked over to where Aliki was bleeding out onto the ground, aimed, and fired the last two rounds into the cop's head.

 _So much for being artistic_ , he thought. He needed to get the hell out of there before the gunshots brought more police officers, but he had time to do one last thing. He drug Aliki's body to the tree, propping him against it as if he were sitting on a throne.

"See you in hell, Piggy," he said as he drove slowly and carefully out of the park as the police were racing in.

* * *

O-O-O-O-O

Phelps, once more seated in front of McGarrett's desk, glaring at the tall state cop. "Where's my damned lawyer?" he demanded.

"All in good time, Mr. Phelps." McGarrett said, his face blank and unreadable. "Do you do much gardening?"

Phelps looked confused. "What?"

"Gardening," McGarrett said. "You know, planting things in the ground and then fertilizing them. What are you growing? Sugarcane? Pineapple?"

Phelps squirmed in his chair. He wasn't expecting this line of questioning. "I ain't sayin' nothing until my lawyer gets here."

"Have it your way, Mr. Phelps. Officer Williams, take Mr. Phelps back to the holding cell."

"You heard the man, Mr. Phelps," Danny said, smiling. "Time to go back to your nice cell on the ground floor."

"You can't keep me here. You either have to charge me or let me go! I know my rights! Where's my damned lawyer?" Phelps demanded. He was sweating profusely. The scent of oil, grease, and nervous perspiration was starting to make Danny's eyes water.

"Mr. Phelps," McGarrett said slowly and evenly, "Hawaiian state law says I can hold you for twenty-four hours without charging you with anything. You've only been here, what, three, four hours at the most. If you'd like, we can talk about this tomorrow. Officer Williams if you'd be so kind as to take Mr. Phelps back to his cell."

"This way, please." Danny said. He escorted Phelps toward the door, as the man looked around wildly, as if seeking an escape route.

"Danno," McGarrett said, " Before you go, I have one more question for Mr. Phelps and then you can take him back to his cell where he can think about the answer."

Phelps glared at McGarrett, trying to cover the near panic he was feeling.

"I know that you paid for a thousand pounds of ammonium nitrate, six empty steel drums, and two barrels of farm diesel from Oahu Farm Supply. It was delivered yesterday. It isn't in your garage but we found enough traces to know it was there. You have a choice of telling me what you're planning on doing with enough ammonium nitrate to make a bomb bigger than anything dropped on Pearl Harbor or you can go sit in holding cell for the next twenty hours or so. It's up to you. Only don't take too long to make up your mind because I have a feeling that the intended target is this building. As soon as Officer Williams has you locked in a cell downstairs, I'm going to order this building evacuated and searched. If we don't find a bomb, I'm going to assume your man McKenzie is planning on using a truck bomb. We'll try to stop him, but if we don't, the only living soul left in this building is going to be you, locked in a holding cell. Danno, get him out of here."

McGarrett held his breath, counting slowly backwards from ten.

"Wait," Phelps said.

"Yes, Mr. Phelps," McGarrett said.

"What's in it for me?"

"What's in it for you, Mr. Phelps, is that you don't get blown up."

* * *

O-O-O-O-O

Compton and Marks were the first two police units on scene. They stood staring at the the grim tableau under the palm tree. Compton knew the man was dead without checking for a pulse, but he'd done it anyway, gone around the long way, circling behind the tree and approaching from the back so as not to contaminate the scene. He confirmed the man was dead and told Marks to call the coroner and the crime lab. That done, he'd set up roadblocks on all the roads leading into or out of the park.

"What's with this... display?" Marks asked scratching his head.

"You got me," Compton said. "Maybe its some sort of art project."

One of the wooden crates was near the passenger side door of Aliki's patrol car. The type of crate looked familiar to Marks, who was a Gulf War veteran and an infantryman in the National Guard. A closer look at the crate confirmed his worse fears.

"Robbie, we got problems. This is a claymore crate," Marks said. "It's empty. How many more over there by the body?"

Robbie counted five more crates and did the math. "Six crates with four mines each makes two dozen of the damn things loose and on the streets. This is way beyond my pay grade." He keyed his rover unit. "Dispatch this is Compton, patch me through to McGarrett at Five-O."

Che and his crew arrived before McGarrett came on the line. They had finished with the garage and were on their way back to the lab when the 'officer down' call came through. The photographer got out her camera and began taking pictures, recording any and everything that could be used to bring the killer in.

After what seemed and eternity, McGarrett came on the line. "What have you got?" he asked tersely.

"Sir, we've got one dead cop, Keoke Aliki. He's been shot. And if that's not bad enough, we found six empty crates that use to contain claymore mines."

"Listen carefully," McGarrett said, "Are there any empty fertilizer bags or steel drums in the vicinity?"

"Sir, there are some empty bags, only, I don't know what kind cause the body is on top of them and I don't want to contaminate the crime scene. And there are two steel drums with pumps attached, the kind you find on fuel drums. I can't confirm it until Che's done with the crime scene." Compton was torn between answering McGarrett's questions and keeping the crime scene pristine.

"Robbie," McGarrett said gently, "I need to know if those bags contained ammonium nitrate and I need to know now. Che will understand."

"Yes, Sir," Robbie said as he crossed the crime scene, hoping he wasn't stepping on evidence. "Sir, according to the bags it was fifty pounds of ammonium nitrate in the bags and there are a lot of bags. And, sir, the fuel drums are farm diesel and both of them are empty. There's also a spool of demolition wire, the kind used to set up perimeter mines with. Looks like about half a spool left on it."

"Thank you, Sgt Compton. Did you see any vehicles in the area when you arrived on scene? Probably a truck or a cargo van."

"None that I can remember. You may want to call dispatch. There should be a recording of Keoke's last calls."

"Good work, Sergeant. Keep me posted if you get any new information." McGarrett hung up the phone and pinned Phelps with a look that said the time for bullshit was over. "Mr. Phelps," he said, sounding old and tired and fed up with with both Phelps and McKenzie, "That was an HPD officer. Seems like someone shot and killed a police officer, possibly because the officer caught the shooter in the act of making a fertilizer bomb. You know what else was found at the crime scene, Mr. Phelps? Any idea why McKenzie would need six cases of claymore mines?"

McGarrett stood up and began pacing around the office. "Mr. Phelps, I have the invoices where you ordered and paid for the bomb making components. Right now you're just looking at jail time, but if that bomb goes off and anyone gets hurt or killed, the feds are going to come down on you like a ton of bricks, and after Oklahoma City, they're going to be circling like great whites, waiting to sink their teeth into you. Now, tell me where to find McKenzie before anyone else gets hurt."

Phelps wasn't as dumb as he appeared to be. He was a history buff who only wanted to be left alone. He knew he was a criminal, but he did have rules. He knew what McKenzie wanted to do with his homemade bomb. He had been paid good money to see to it that McKenzie got what he needed, however, claymore mines had not been on the list and if McKenzie had the mines, he'd acquired them from some other source. He'd had his doubts that McKenzie could successfully build the bomb without blowing himself up in the process. Add claymores to the an already volatile mixture and you had a nightmare on wheels. He had badly underestimated McKenzie.

"I got the fertilizer and the diesel fuel and the drums, that's all, man," Phelps said, eyes wide with the realization of exactly how badly he'd underestimated McKenzie. "I figured the idiot would blow himself up mixing the stuff. Or he'd get the ratio wrong and it wouldn't blow. If he's got claymores, he's got them wired to the inside of the drums. If they mines are wired in sequence, you can blow them all with one detonator switch. But I swear I didn't supply him with the mines. I don't touch military ordnance. No sixteens, no sixties, and no explosives. He's gonna make a truck bomb. He's going to run it into this building, right under this office. I swear I didn't know about the mines. You've got to stop him. He has a five o'clock deadline. Says he wants to see the explosion on the six o'clock news."

"What's he driving?" McGarrett demanded.

"A beat up powder blue rust bucket Ford Econoline van. No windows on the sides, just a set of sliding doors. It's beat to shit and blows blue smoke in second gear. It's got fake plates, and I suppose you're going to want to know where I get 'em. You want the source for the fake plates and fake ID's we got for McKenzie and his kid, you get those when I get out of here. You dig, p... ah, sir?"

"Danno, please get a couple of HPD officers to take Mr. Phelps to city jail. Mr. Phelps, all bets are off if that bomb blows. You dig?" McGarrett was in no mood for nonsense. "When you're done with that, lets get started on getting this building evacuated." Danny nodded as he left, thinking about he long straight driveway that lead to the palace.

McGarrett called central dispatch and asked to hear the tape of Officer Aliki's last call. He wasn't surprised when it came through. Aliki was a good officer and would have called in the plate before getting out of his patrol car. McGarrett listened to the officers last official words. _"Central, this is Aliki, I've got an old Ford Econoline van, light blue with lots of rust, plate number FTA 069. Any wants or warrants? You copy?"_

McGarrett shook his head at the mediocrity of the criminal mind. "Put out an APB on that van, priority one. The driver is one Lester Smith, aka Cord McKenzie. Subject is armed and dangerous and has a homemade bomb on board. He's probably headed to Iolani Palace and the vicinity. Approach with caution and with backup. I want that aired every ten minutes until we catch this bastard. Understood? Good." He hung up the phone.

McGarrett got up from his desk, checked to make sure his gun was loaded and wondered if he should do like Duke and most of the other officers and upgrade to the .357 or a .45. He was wearing the Kevlar vest Maggie got him for Christmas, wondering just how much good it was going to do against a truck bomb loaded with two dozen claymores. As he put on his suit jacket the picture on his desk caught his eye. It was the picture that Susan had taken of the two of them on their first date, a reception at the Capitol Building. He was wearing a tux and Maggie was wearing her mess blues. She had been standing on one of the stairs, and still only came up to his shoulder. His little _Menehune_. He took a deep breath, hoping he'd survive the evening and went to help with the evacuation.


	12. Chapter 12

O-O-O-O-O

Maggie smoothed down her uniform jacket before she knocked on Colonel Dale's door. She opened the door at his gruff "come in," stood at attention in front of his desk, saluted, and said, "Sir, Sergeant First Class Ald...er McGarrett reporting, sir!"

"At ease, sergeant. How many times do I have to tell you not to do that every time you come in here?"

"Sorry, sir, but this is sorta official," she said, wincing slightly as her spine reminded her why she was in the Colonel's office. "Sir, I've been giving it a lot of thought. I'd like to put in for early medical retirement."

"Sit down, sergeant. I was wondering how long it would be before you were in here. I've been keeping an eye on you since you came back from convalescent leave this last time. I'm surprised you waited this long." Colonel Dale sighed as Maggie sat down. "You're one of my best writers. Are you sure I can't keep you around until October?"

"Afraid not, sir." Maggie said. "I'm on light duty as it is, I'm going to physical therapy three times a week, and, sir, Susan said something yesterday that got me to thinking. She said that life very seldom lets you have a do over. I got one and didn't even realize it."

Colonel Dale nodded, feeling every bit like a wise old owl acknowledging that a fledgling had somehow become an adult when he wasn't looking. "Does this have anything to do with your new husband?"

"In a way, yes." Maggie said. "When I was married to Michael I think I stayed in because it was easier that way. We were both military and we understood what came with the job. We both knew that either of us could be shipped off to anywhere in the world at a moments notice. Steve's a cop, not a soldier, and while he hasn't said anything, I know he'd be overjoyed if I retired early. He says he has nightmares about me being deployed into another war zone."

Colonel Dale looked across his desk at the petite woman sitting there. He'd known her since her first hitch when she was painfully naive and trying to hide behind a tough girl facade that most people could see though after knowing her all of five minutes. She was a brilliant writer who wrote down exactly what she saw and heard. He was going to miss her. "File the papers, sergeant. I'll get things rolling for the medical board."

"Thank you, sir," Maggie said, rising and saluting.

"Not so fast, soldier," Colonel Dale said, smiling. "You haven't retired yet and since you're acting first sergeant until Sgt Lukela gets back, we've got Commanders call at four."

"One more reason to retire early," Maggie said. "I hate meetings." She checked her watch. "We've got twenty minutes to get there. Let me grab a notebook and you can give me a ride. I swear my car spends so much time at the crime lab it should be on the payroll."

* * *

O-O-O-O-O

McGarrett, Williams, and Chin Ho were huddled around the map laid out on the big square table, trying desperately to pinpoint McKenzie's location. Iolani Palace had been evacuated and searched, to no avail. McGarrett had roadblocks set up at every road leading into the palace, but even that was turning into a logistical nightmare. Iolani was surrounded by parkland. Anyone really wanting to crash a truck into the palace could easily do so by driving across the beautifully landscaped lawns.

"We know he was at Waipio Peninsula Park because that's where he killed Officer Aliki." McGarrett said. "What time is it?" He was feeling time pressing down on him from all directions. He had called he governor earlier, informing him of the bomb threat. They had a bit of good luck for once. The state house and senate were still on recess and not in session. Jameson had sent his staff home as a precautionary measure. The only people left at the Capitol were the security guards and the few sheriff's deputies Kono could spare.

"Four-thirty five," Danny said. "If Phelps is right, we need to get out of this building."

"If this building gets blown up we're going to need to get out of Honolulu," McGarrett said, remembering his last battle with academia. "The Historical Society has been breathing down our necks for the last three years. Remember the fit they had when we ran the cables for the new computers and that was just a few holes in the wall. If the building gets damaged we're going to catch hell from every historian on this Rock."

Chin Ho had gone out onto the lanai with a pair of binoculars to have a look around. "No sign of McKenzie or a blue van," he said, "But channel nine is setting up by the picnic tables."

"The vultures are circling and we're not even dead yet." McGarrett said. "Where's that damned van?"

As if in answer to his question the radio suddenly came to life. "Dispatch this is Charlie 7, I have just spotted the blue van, license FTA 069 at the corner of South King and Bishop street. Repeat, South King and Bishop street, he turned onto South King Street. I'm one car behind him. Request backup before I hit the lights and sirens."

"Roger that, Charlie 7, all units, all units in vicinity Iolani palace, suspect is on South King street, silent approach. No lights or sirens. Repeat suspected truck bomber is heading towards Iolani Palace on South King Street. All units in the vicinity silent approach. Do not startle this man. Driver is armed and dangerous."

"Okay, gentlemen," McGarrett said, "Time to earn those paychecks, everyone outside!"

Danny and Chin grabbed riot guns from their offices and the three men ran down the stairs to the parking lot.

McGarrett's rover unit was alive with chatter."This is Charlie 7, he just made me! Crap, he's speeding up. All units, he's speeding up, try to get this guy stopped! Repeat, suspect is speeding down South King street. All units respond!"

McGarrett was on the radio. "Get Mililani and LikeLike street blocked. Now! Park a couple of squad cars across them, throw down the spike strips, and get the hell out of the way!" He could hear tires squealing and sirens coming closer.

"What if he takes off cross country?" Danny asked.

"That's what I'm counting on, Danno," McGarrett said.

Sirens, coming closer. Then more chatter on the radio. "He's cutting across the grass! Look out, he's cutting across the lawns! All units, all units respond to Iolani Palace."

Steve was running towards his car. Danny knew what he was going to do, but there was no time to stop him.

McKenzie was grinning. He had the detonator in his hand. He would have liked to have lived to see the news coverage, but that was not to be. He was going down as a martyr to his cause.

The reporters and camera crew from channel nine scattered as the van tore across the lawn belching blue smoke and tearing up the grass.

McGarrett backed out of the parking space, tires squealing, door still open. He did a bootleg turn that had the big Mercury sideways as the van slammed into the passenger side.

Everyone hit the dirt as McKenzie detonated the claymores.

It was a beautiful explosion. Channel nine caught it all.

* * *

O-O-O-O-O

Danny and Chin Ho waited until all the secondary explosions; the gas tanks and the ammo in the trunk of what was left of Steve's Mercury, were over and it quit raining glass shards before getting up. They looked at each other, neither of them wanting to do what they had to do next. "You reckon he got out?" Chin asked.

"God, I hope so," Danny said. The fire department had been standing by on scene and were doing a good job of putting out the flames. As some of the smoke cleared Danny caught sight of a man in a shredded cobalt blue suit lying face down on the macadam directly underneath Five-O's offices. Danny and Chin ran over.

"Steve," Danny said, kneeling beside his boss and friend. "Chin, give me a hand rolling him over. Steve, can you hear me?" He found the vein at Steve's neck. There was a pulse, a little slow, but strong and steady. "Wake up, damn it! I am not telling Maggie I let you get killed on my watch!"

Steve groaned and opened his eyes. "I'm still alive?"

"Yeah," said Chin Ho. "Surprise. Now you gone have to explain to the hysterical society how you let all the windows on the front side of the palace get broken. Not to mention what some of the brickwork looks like."

McGarrett tried to sit up. "Easy, there, boss," Danny said. "The EMT's are on the way."

"What about McKenzie?" McGarrett asked.

"I hope he's got current dental records is all I'm saying." Danny said.

The EMT's insisted on putting McGarrett on a gurney. McGarrett, for his part, hurt too damned bad to argue with them. He didn't think he'd broken anything. He had road rash on the palms of both hands from when he had dived out the door of the Mercury. His suit was a total loss.

"I told you about those blue suits," Danny said. "This makes what, about the third one you've ruined? Next time get gray."

"Danno, call Maggie before she hears about this on the news." Steve said as they were loading him into the ambulance for the trip to Queens.

"Gotcha." Danny said. "I'll let her know."

* * *

O-O-O-O-O

Maggie and Colonel Dale were at Commander's Call. Once a month the Commanding General of Ft Shafter had what was euphemistically called a staff meeting, but was in actuality an informal gathering that featured a short speech, a few questions and a hell of a lot of booze. Maggie had attended more than her share and was planning on beating a hasty retreat before the serious drinking began. She was halfway to the door when someone yelled for the bartender to turn up the TV because terrorists had bombed Iolani Palace.

Channel nine was running the footage on a loop; first at normal speed and then in slow motion. You could see the blue van racing across the lawn only to be intercepted by a black Mercury that jumped the curb onto the grass. Maggie watched in horror as the van rammed into the side of the big sedan and a huge fireball engulfed both vehicles. Mark Meyers droned on over his cell phone, narrating the scene.

"We don't have all the facts yet, but it appears that the driver of the van was wanted by Five-O in connection with the shooting of District Attorney John Manicote. What we do know is that black sedan you see intercepting the van was being driven by Five-O commander Steve McGarrett. Mr. McGarrett is being transported to Queens hospital however we do not know the extent of his injuries."

Maggie stood at the bar, eyes open wide, ignoring the continuous ringing of her cell phone. Colonel Dale took her arm. "I'll take you to the hospital," he said. "You may want to answer your phone."

It was Danny. He told her that as far as he could tell, Steve hadn't been badly injured, but was probably going to be one hurting puppy in the morning. Maggie said that Colonel Dale was going to take her to Queens and that she'd meet them there. She snapped her phone closed and tried not to start crying with most of command watching.

* * *

O-O-O-O-O

Doc Bergman was shining a light in his eyes as a nurse was cleaning the wounds on the palm of his hands. "Enough already, Doc," McGarrett complained. "That damned light is giving me a headache."

"Your thick Irish skull impacting the parking lot is what's giving you a headache, not my light," Bergman said. "The good news is you don't have a concussion. The bad news is you're going to hurt like hell in the morning. Oh, and you're going to need a new suit. The jacket's a mess. By the way, you're the second cop in here in two days that owes his life to Kevlar."

"What about Aliki?" McGarrett asked. "Was he wearing a vest?"'

"Yes," Doc said, shortly. "For all the good it did. He would have survived the two to the chest, it's the one to the left thigh that killed him. Perforated the femoral artery. He was dead before McKenzie put the two through his head."

The nurse was done with his right hand and was wrapping it in gauze. "I need to get over there, Doctor," she said. "Time to switch sides."

Bergman and the nurse exchanged places. He wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Steve's arm, pumped it up, and waited for the machine to spit out the numbers. "Hmmmm, 120 over 85. Not bad, considering you were nearly blown to bits. Where did you get the damnfool idea of stopping a truck bomb with your car?"

"It was that or explain to the Historical Society why I let Iolani Palace get blown up," Steve said, wincing as the nurse was wiping his hand with disinfectant prior to removing the embedded gravel from his palm. "Given a choice between a truck bomb and that bunch, I'll take the truck bomb any day."

"Really?" came a soft southern drawl from behind the privacy drape. Maggie drew back the curtains, her face white with dread. "Don't you ever do a stunt like that again, Steve McGarrett! You have just given me the fright of my life!"

She crossed to room to take his gauze covered hand in hers.

"It's okay, honey," he said. "Just a few scrapes and bruises. As soon as the nurse is done, I can go home."

"You're staying overnight for observation," Doc said.

"No way, Doc," Steve argued. "I'm going home."

"We'll see," Doc said, grumpily.

There was a commotion outside the curtained cubicle. Maggie looked up to see Danny, Chin, and Duke Lukela in a wheelchair being pushed by Kono, while Susan followed with Robbie Compton, both the Thompson's, and Pacita Mendoza at her heels.

"What's all this?" McGarrett asked.

"Looks like you got a fan club there, Steve," Doc said, still feeling grumpy and put upon.

"We stopped by to see how you were doing," Danny said.

"I'm going home as soon as someone brings me some clothes." Steve said.

"I can't win," Doc said. "Nurse, find some scrubs for someone with long legs. Sgt Lukela, back to your room in ten or I'm sending an orderly to get you."

"I've got one doctor telling me to get up and walk around and another one telling me to go back to bed." Duke said "What's the possibility for getting out tonight?" Susan shook her head as all the women rolled their eyes skyward.

"Slim and none," Doc said. "You're stuck here until I take that chest tube out tomorrow morning. Mrs. Lukela, try to keep him out of trouble."

Susan just smiled as she placed a protective hand on Duke's shoulder.

"It looks like you're going to need a ride home, Steve," Danny said. "Heads up, Maggie!" He tossed her the keys to her Mustang. "I drove it over from the lab. It's parked outside. Che even had it washed for you."

"Thanks, Danny," Maggie said.

"Before you decide to go out and take on the world, Steve, there's something I need to show you," Doc said. He disappeared only to return a minute later carrying what was left of Steve's suit jacket and the Kevlar vest he'd been wearing. The back of the jacket was shredded from a point just below the shoulders to the hem. Steel ball bearings, about the size of bb's were embedded in the outside layer of the vest.

Maggie looked at what was left of the jacket and vest and swayed on her feet as the room began to spin. Danny saw what was happening and helped her sit down. Doc Bergman came over, took her pulse, shined a light in her eyes, and pronounced her fit.

"Delayed shock," he said. "She'll be okay in a minute or two."

"You were nearly killed!" Maggie said. "Don't you ever do this to me again! It's not allowed!"

"I'm fine, honey." Steve said. "And we'll both feel better after a long soak in the tub and good nights sleep. In my own bed, Doc. I'm going home."

"I'll get the paperwork ready for you to sign and have the pharmacy send down some pain killers. Don't argue with me," he said. "You're still running on adrenaline and the shot of dilaudid you got when you came in. When that wears off, you're going to need them. Since you taking tomorrow off is probably going to be out of the question, at least sleep in."

"You heard the man," Maggie said. "I don't have to be in until nine. I'll drop you off on the way to work. Wish I could be there when you tell the governor you need a new car."

"Yeah," Danny said, grinning with mischief, "Isn't this the third one you've destroyed?"

"No," said the governor, as he entered the room, "This will be car number five. I just saw Doc Bergman and he said you're going home soon. I was in the vicinity and thought I'd stop by to check on you. I'm also pleased to say that John Manicote is being moved out of ICU." Jameson shook hands with all the men and got hugs from the women. He could see that Susan's pregnancy was becoming noticeable.

"Sgt Lukela," Jameson said, smiling at Susan. "May I offer congratulations on the little one. Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?"

"It's a boy, sir," Susan said, resting one hand on her tummy and the other on Duke's shoulder.

"The kids are very excited," Duke said. "They can't wait to meet their baby brother."

Paul Jameson, governor of Hawaii, looked around the room and wished he had a camera. Almost every race and culture found on the Islands was present. Caucasian, Chinese, native Hawaiian, and Pacific Islanders, African-American, and one small Cajun. _Ohana,_ he thought, _only in Hawaii. Here they build families from the ground up and skin color has very little to do with it. It's built on trust and love and respect and somehow or another it just works_.

"Steve, I need to see you tomorrow. Have Jenny call my office with a good time." He paused before he left, remembering the first time he'd met the petite Army sergeant. He could tell, even then, that McGarrett's days as being one of Hawaii's most eligible bachelors were numbered. He kissed Maggie and Susan good-by and asked Kono to walk to the car with him.

The nurse came in with a set of scrubs, an Aloha print bag from the pharmacy, and three pills in a small plastic cup. "Here you go, sir," she said. "Time for your evening meds. I've got your blood pressure medicine and a couple of Percodan's for the pain."

"You can keep the pain medication," Steve started to say, only to be interrupted by the nurse.

"Sorry, sir," she said, "Doctor Bergman said to tell you that if you want to go home tonight, you'll take the pills and quit arguing with the nurses." She dropped the scrubs on the bed and poured ice water into a paper cup. "Bon appetite."

Everyone cleared out for McGarrett to get dressed. Someone had been nice enough to go through his suit pockets and the contents were in a plastic ziplock bag. The only thing missing was his gun. Before he could ask where it was, Danny came back into the cubicle carrying the .38 in it's well worn holster.

"Here's your gun, Steve," Danny said. He'd switched to a .357 a year earlier. Steve was the only member of the team who still carried a .38. "You going to be okay?"

Maggie answered for him. "He's going home and he's going to bed, so think twice before calling."

Danny gave Steve the gun and kissed Maggie on the cheek. "You're the only person he actually listens to. If you need anything, give me a call. I'm going back to Iolani to face the wrath of the Hysterical Society. But before that, I'm going to have a mini press conference around front while you two go out the back. That way you won't have to deal with reporters." He gave Maggie a brief salute and left.

Steve finished getting dressed, signed a stack of papers, dropped the bottle of Percodan in his shirt pocket. He was giving the room a quick going over to make sure he wasn't leaving anything when Kono appeared pushing an empty wheelchair.

"What's with the chair?" Steve asked.

"Hospital policy," Kono said, grinning. "Everybody checking out get a free ride."

"I can walk," Steve protested.

"Steve, honey," Maggie said. "For once quit being so damned stubborn and let us take care of you."

McGarrett looked into those big dark green eyes and his heart melted. "Okay, baby, just this once." He sat down in the chair. "You heard the woman, Kono. Let's go.

Danny had parked Maggie's car in front of the emergency entrance in the spot reserved for the police. The parking lot was swarming with both newspaper and television reporters. Danny was giving a brief interview that kept the mob distracted long enough for Steve and Maggie to make their escape without being noticed.

It was a warm evening with just a suggestion of a trade wind blowing, carrying with it the scent of plumeria and jasmine. Maggie had the top down, and the stars were just starting to come out. Steve reached over and took her hand. "I love you, my little _Menehune_. Let's go home."

(Pau for now)


End file.
